



































CJPO 




































































« 























































• - \ . 























































































































By William Heyliger 

High Benton 

FAIRVIEW SERIES 
Captain Fair and Square 
The County Pennant 
Fighting for Fairview 

ST. MARY’S SERIES 
Bartley, Freshman Pitcher 
Bucking the Line 
Strike Three! 

The Captain of the Nine 
Against Odds 
Off Side 

BOY SCOUTS SERIES 
Don Strong of the Wolf Patrol 
Don Slnomg, Patrol Leader 
Don Strong, American 

LANSING SERIES 
Johson of Lansing 
Batter Up 

Quarterback Reckless 
Five Yards to Go 
The Winning Hit 
Fair Play 
Straight Ahead 


D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
Publishers New York 


IT8 F 













































a 


it’s agin our law to go hungry 




[page 41 ] 









DON STRONG 
AMERICAN 


BY 

WILLIAM HEYLIGER 

AUTHOR OF DON STRONG OF THE WOLF PATROL,” DON STRONG, 
PATROL LEADER,” “HIGH BENTON,” BTC. 



FRONTISPIECE 


D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 

NEW YORK LONDON 

1920 

3 




COPYRIGHT, Ig20 BY 

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 

Copyright, 1920, by 
THE BOY SCOUTS OF AMERICA 


is>°[l b 

i «j. V 



PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OP AMERICA 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I News from France 

II Lining Up for Duty 20 

III Paying the Bill 39 

IV A New Partner 61 

V Disappearing Haversacks 82 

VI Don Goes to the Cabin 105 

VII Tangled Threads 117 

VIII Bobby Travels an Unexpected Road ... . . .134 

IX On the Other Side of the River 147 

X An Unexpected Dash . 169 

XI The Camp of the Twins 179 

XII The Raid 197 

XIII The Twins Volunteer 21 1 

XIV Welcome Home . 240 

XV Americans All 259 



DON STRONG, AMERICAN 


CHAPTER I 

NEWS FROM FRANCE 

T HE bedroom door was slightly ajar; 

and a light, turned low in the hall, 
sent a weak, pallid ray of illumination into 
the room. The boy on the bed stirred rest- 
lessly, sighed, and settled to sound sleep again. 
A moment passed. The restless movement 
was repeated as though something insistent, 
something that would not be denied, called, 
and called, and called to his senses to rouse 
themselves. Abruptly, all at once, he was 
awake in that almost dark room in the dead 
hours of the night. 

He thought he had heard a sound. But 
though he listened intently his ears caught 
nothing but the faint, dry rattle of dead leaves 

i 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

on the porch roof outside his window. Yet, 
so sure was he that he had been awakened by 
some unusual noise, that he sat up in bed. 
There had been some robberies in a village 
farther up the valley — At that thought the 
goose-flesh ran over his back, but his feet, 
moving carefully and feeling for the floor, 
did not hesitate. If there were burglars in 
the house something had to be done — just what 
he did not know. He didn’t want intruders 
prowling about and terrifying his mother and 
his sisters. He had heard that the surest way 
to scare away thieves was to make a tremend- 
ous racket. Perhaps if he crept out into the 
hall and rolled an iron dumb-bell down the 
stairs — 

“Aroooooooo! Aroooooooo! Aroooooooo!” 
wailed the whistle at the railroad roundhouse. 

He recognized it as the sound that had 
awakened him, and at once his fears were 
gone. Hurrying to the window he parted the 
curtains. But though he looked both east and 


2 


NEWS FROM FRANCE 

west he could see no fire glare in the sky. If 
the whistle was blowing for a railroad fire 
the blaze was probably far down the line. He 
turned back toward the bed. 

“Screeeee, screeee, screeee, screeee, scre- 
eee!” wailed a locomotive whistle. “Screeee, 
screeee, screeee, screeee!” 

That second whistle, joining the first, had a 
disquieting sound. The night began to take 
on an air of mystery and alarm. The boy for- 
got that he had started back for bed and be- 
gan to dress. A door opened. 

“Don!” a woman’s voice called. 

“Yes, mother.” She came into the room 
trembling, plainly afraid. Another whistle 
joined the growing din. “I thought it was a 
fire,” Don Strong said, “but I can’t see any 
glare.” He went to the window again, and 
presently was aware that his sisters Barbara 
and Beth had joined his mother. 

The little town of Chester was awakening. 
One moment a house would be dark — the 


3 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

next, an upstairs room would be bright. 
Shades were raised and lights streamed forth 
to reveal lawns, gravel walks and picket fences 
painted white, and a vague, ghostly outline of 
hedges. 

“Don I” Barbara cried suddenly, “can it 
be — ” 

From some place near at hand a bugle 
sounded. 

“Bang!” barked a revolver in the next street. 
“Bang-bang-bang-bang.” 

“It’s peace,” cried Barbara. “Don!” She 
caught him by the shoulder, whirled him 
about and began to dance with him. “Ger- 
many has surrendered; Germany has surren- 
dered.” 

He tore himself away, raced downstairs, 
and presently appeared in the street banging 
a dish-pan. All Chester was now awake. 
Another revolver answered the first. To the 
north a vivid flare of red fire turned the night 
crimson. Church bells began to ring. The 


4 


NEWS FROM FRANCE 

night grew wild with the clamor of a people 
rejoicing. 

Into the east crept a blush of rose-colored 
dawn. And at that moment the notes of a 
cornet rose shrill and clear above the tumult: 

Oh, say can you see by the dawn’s early light, 

What so proudly we hailed at the twilight’s last gleam- 
ing— 

A thrill, first hot, then cold, then hot again, 
raced through Don’s body. The dish-pan 
was forgotten. Stiffly he stood at attention. 
One thought ran over and over again through 
his mind — victory for the right, victory for the 
just, victory for the free. The cornet sang 
on: 

Oh, thus be it ever when freemen shall stand 
Between their loved homes and the war’s desolation — 

There was a mist in his eyes when the last 
note sounded. Soberly he came into the 
house. His mother was in the kitchen, pre- 
paring breakfast and weeping quietly. The 
end of the war meant much to her. Mr. 


5 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

Strong had left his carpenter’s bench in the 
basement of the house and had gone to a river 
city to do his share toward victory in a ship- 
yard. Don tip-toed his way upstairs. Beth 
was making her bed. He tapped on Bar- 
bara’s door but received no answer. He 
pushed open the door a bit, and then drew 
back. Barbara was on her knees in prayer. 

“That’s Barbara, though,” Don said husk- 
ily, and went to his own room. 

There, with his chin cupped in one hand, 
he stared out the window at the road past his 
house, brown in its autumn dress of fallen 
leaves. The war had brought great changes 
and great problems. First Mr. Wall, the 
scoutmaster of Chester Troop, had gone into 
the army — and because there had been no- 
body else to do the w r ork he had tried to act 
as scoutmaster in Mr. Wall’s place. Then 
his father had gone to the shipyard — and he 
had found himself, except for those few Sat- 
urday and Sunday hours when his father was 
6 


NEWS FROM FRANCE 


home, the man of the house. He had not been 
able to fill his father’s shoes, and he had not 
been able to measure up to Mr. Wall’s stand- 
ard as scoutmaster. Nobody had expected 
him to do all this, but he had demanded it of 
himself. One scout, Bobby Brown, had 
drifted away — He roused himself and 
sighed contentedly. Well, the war was over. 
His responsibilities were at an end. His fa- 
ther and Mr. Wall would soon be coming 
home and Mr. Wall would take care of Bobby 
Brown. 

Beth called cheerily that breakfast was 
ready, and he went downstairs. The whistles 
had ceased their din, and now one of the 
town’s fire engines was running through the 
streets, its siren tooting valiantly. At inter- 
vals somebody in an adjoining street was fir- 
ing a cannon. Don was too excited to eat 
much — he noticed that his mother did not eat 
at all. A whistle came from the front gate. 
Barbara went to the window. 


7 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

“It’s Andy Ford,” she said. 

Don bolted from the house. Already the 
street had taken on a holiday air. Flags flut- 
tered from many windows, and men, on shaky 
ladders, were balancing perilously as they 
tacked streamers of red, white and blue along 
porch copings. Andy, all on edge from ex- 
citement, came into the yard as Don came 
out of the house. 

“Parade to-night,” he called. “There’s a 
sign at the bulletin board at the railroad sta- 
tion. How about the scouts? Will we pa- 
rade, too?” 

“Wouldn’t miss it,” said Don. Something 
was wrong with his voice for it trembled and 
shook and broke a bit. 

“I’ll post a notice on the board, and I’ll post 
one at Troop headquarters.” Andy was im- 
patient to be off again, but another thought 
stayed him. “Think Bobby’ll turn out?” 

“Miss a victory parade?” Don demanded 
incredulously. 


8 


NEWS FROM FRANCE 


“Well, he — he’s missed a lot of other 
things. I’ll post those notices. See you 
later.” 

Don went back to the house with slower 
steps. It seemed inconceivable that any Boy 
Scout would miss doing his part in celebrat- 
ing American victory. And yet — Don 
gathered his books and went off to school. He 
might just as well have left the books at home, 
for it speedily became apparent that the high 
school classes would not meet to-day. There 
was a short assembly, a husky talk by the high 
school principal whose two boys lay dead in 
France, a prayer, the singing of the Star Span- 
gled Banner, and then a tumultuous breaking 
up as the scholars crowded toward the doors. 

Don found himself next to Tim Lally, one 
of the leaders of Chester Troop. Tim’s frec- 
kled face was fiery red as though something 
inside of him had reached the boiling point 
and threatened to burst. As they came out 
of the building Bobby Brown broke from a 
9 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

crowd of boys near the curb and began to run 
down the street. 

“Bobby!” Don cried. “Oh, Bobby!” 

The boy must have heard, but he did not 
glance back. 

“Probably gone to spend the day at the 
bowling alley,” Tim growled. He stopped 
short all at once and gave Don a frowning, 
suspicious look. “Will he be with us to- 
night?” 

“Of course he will,” said Don. 

But would he? The thought plagued Don 
long after he had left Tim. He went around 
to Troop headquarters, let himself in and 
worked for a while on some Troop records 
that had fallen behind. Through a side win- 
dow he could see Mr. Wall’s house not fifty 
feet away. A service flag that the scouts had 
made hung from the porch railing. Some- 
where within those walls Mrs. Wall was prob- 
ably weeping happily — just as his mother had 
wept. He put down his pen and stared out 


io 


/ NEWS FROM FRANCE 

of the window seeing nothing of the road and 
its brown, leaf-bare trees. Mr. Wall was 
some place in France with the fighting 
A.E.F., America was celebrating the peace 
and the victory that its army had won — and 
two Scouts had said that another Scout would 
not bother his head to parade. Don sighed, 
and put the records away, and locked the door. 

At seven o’clock he was back again. The 
town, which had grown quiet during the after- 
noon, was becoming noisy again with a din of 
bells, horns and whistles. The scouts of 
Chester Troop, assembling at headquarters, 
seemed unable to control themselves, and ran 
headlong in and out of the building and made 
a tremendous racket drawing staffs from the 
racks. 

Don, standing to one side, watched for one 
face. Perhaps, he told himself in an effort to 
encourage his drooping spirits, Bobby was 
about but had not yet come in for his staff. 
He motioned to Tim Lally. 


ii 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

“Fall in,” Tim cried. “Fall in, fellows.” 

Don stood in the doorway until the last flus- 
tered straggler was in line. He saw Tim and 
Andy count the files, look at each other and 
shake their heads. He knew what that meant. 
Bobby Brown had deserted the Troop on vic- 
tory night! 

“Forward !” he cried. The lines were alert. 
“March!” Away they went. 

In front of the Town Hall it seemed that 
bedlam had broken loose. Don found the fire 
companies already formed, and marched 
Chester Troop right in behind them. A 
lodge took position behind the Troop. Aerial 
bombs were exploding in the sky. Along 
Main Street a dozen pans of red fire were 
burning, making the thoroughfare seem like 
a fiery canyon. Abruptly the drums sounded 
the long roll, the band crashed into the open- 
ing bars of a march, and the parade moved 
off. 

The red fire was blinding to the eyes and 


12 


NEWS FROM FRANCE 


filled the street with a heavy smoke. The 
cheering crowds on the sidewalks seemed 
ghostly and indistinct. Half a mile, and the 
parade swung round a corner. Don, glancing 
back to give the command, almost forgot to 
call the order. Bobby Brown was in line! 

“He slipped into his place as we passed 
the bowling alley,” Tim Lally growled. 

Don sighed. Why couldn’t Bobby have 
come to headquarters and have started with 
the others? It meant only a difference of 
fifteen minutes. 

“He’s the only scout in line without a 
staff,” said Tim. 

An hour later the parade was over. The 
scouts were not to disband until they reached 
Troop headquarters; but long before the 
building came into view Don knew that 
Bobby’s place in line was once more vacant. 

“He sneaked off as soon as we got back to 
the Town Hall,” said Andy Ford. 

“If it wasn’t for breaking ranks I’d have 
i3 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

gone after him,” Tim Lally said angrily. 
“Somebody’s got to talk to the fellow.” 

Don nodded soberly. As he walked toward 
home the problem of Bobby lay heavy on his 
mind. “I’ll talk to him at Friday night’s 
meeting,” he decided. 

But Bobby did not come to Friday night’s 
meeting. Wally Woods brought word that 
Joe Rivers was sick and that Bobby had taken 
his place as pin-boy at the Chester Alleys. 

“Oh, how I love that Joe,” Tim grunted. 
“Every time I meet him he gives me one of 
those crooked grins. Some day — ” Tim’s 
freckled fists clinched. “Going to see Bobby 
to-morrow, Don?” 

Don shook his head. “My father comes 
home to-morrow.” Every Saturday since Mr. 
Strong had gone to the shipyard he had 
returned to his family for a twenty-four 
hour visit. To-morrow’s homecoming, Don 
thought, would be a real one. The war was 
over and his father would come home to stay. 


NEWS FROM FRANCE 


In the morning he went down to the cellar 
of the house where Mr. Strong conducted his 
carpenter shop. He sprinkled the floor and 
swept it, and set the work-bench to rights. 
He got out paint and freshened the business 
sign on the front porch. Everything was now 
ready, he thought, for his father to resume 
his old occupation as village carpenter. 

But when Mr. Strong turned in at the gate 
that afternoon and saw the sign, newly- 
painted, his face clouded. 

“Hello, dad,” Barbara called. “What’s the 
matter with America?” 

Without quite knowing why, Don suspected 
that something was wrong. After supper his 
father and his mother went upstairs, and he 
heard them talking earnestly. He looked at 
Barbara, but Barbara’s face held as much 
puzzled concern as did his own. By and by 
his mother returned to the dining-room. 

“Your father wants you, Donald,” she said. 

Uneasy, he went upstairs. His father was 
i5 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

slowly pacing up and down one of the bed- 
rooms. 

“Don, how many soldiers have we in Eu- 
rope?” 

“Almost two million.” 

“What are we going to do, let them walk 
home? Are we going to forget them now that 
the war is over?” 

“Of course not.” 

“The Government needs ships to bring 
them home, ships to resume the world’s com- 
merce, ships to send food to Europe. Men 
must stay at the shipyards and build these 
ships.” 

Don thought of the sign he had painted 
and of the shop he had swept. 

“They have made me a foreman,” Mr. 
Strong went on, “and they have asked me to 
stay. They will need me for six more 
months.” 

Don’s heart sank. 

“I know that playing man-of-the-house has 
1 6 


NEWS FROM FRANCE 


been hard/’ Mr. Strong went on gravely. 
“If you think you would rather not face an- 
other six months of it, just say the word. 
You’re only a boy and you’re entitled to your 
boyhood and your good times. Think it 
over.” 

Mr. Strong went downstairs, and Don 
dropped into a chair. Two million men in 
Europe who must be brought home, Mr. Wall 
among them. He drew a deep breath. It 
was hard to give up the pictures he had 
painted — his father home again, the load 
of responsibility off his shoulders. But 
— but there was only one thing for him to 
do. 

Strangely, after the first rush of disappoint- 
ment, it was not the responsibility of the house 
that worried him — it was the responsibility 
of the Troop. His mother and his sisters 
helped to carry on the house, but he had to 
run the Troop alone. If Mr. Wall were 
back — He sat up straight. Why, the war 
i7 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

was over; Mr. Wall would soon be coming 
home. His regiment might sail next week or 
the week after. Then the problem of Bobby 
would be off his mind and stronger hands than 
his would deal with a situation that had be- 
come too big for him. 

“You can count on me to do my share,” he 
said when he came downstairs. 

“I knew we could,” his father said simply. 
Evidently he had told Barbara and Beth, for 
Barbara began to applaud. 

There came a sudden interruption. The 
porch steps echoed the rush of feet. Frantic 
knuckles pounded for admission. Beth hur- 
ried to the door. 

“Where’s Don?” Tim Lally’s voice de- 
manded breathlessly. 

“In the dining-room,” Beth answered. 

Tim charged headlong into the room. At 
sight of the entire family he halted, and a rush 
of blood swept his face. “Excuse me,” he 
stammered. “I — I was in such a hurry — ” 

18 


NEWS FROM FRANCE 

“All right, Tim,” said Mr. Strong; “what’s 
wrong?” 

“The Germans have shot Mr. Wall,” Tim 
gasped. 


CHAPTER II 


LINING UP FOR DUTY 

A LL in a moment Don was bewildered 
and sick with grief. Mr. Wall had 
been one of the best pals the boys had ever 
had. He lurched back a step, blindly, and 
a chair fell. Nobody seemed to notice the 
sound. 

“When — ” Don’s voice was almost a whis- 
per. “When was he killed?” 

“He wasn’t killed,” Tim cried. “He’s 
wounded.” 

Slowly the room came back to normal. 
The color returned to Barbara’s cheeks. Beth 
crossed the room and picked up the over- 
turned chair. 

“I wanted to tell you first,” Tim choked, 
“and then tell the others.” 

“Is he seriously wounded?” 


20 


LINING UP FOR DUTY 

“I don’t know. I was at the railroad sta- 
tion, and I heard the message come over the 
wire. When I heard the word ‘wounded’ I 
forgot to wait for anything else. I’m going 
around and tell Andy, Alex and the others.” 

Tim departed, and the family began to talk 
excitedly — but Don sat silent. He had fig- 
ured on Mr. Wall coming home and leading 
the Troop again, but it might be months be- 
fore the scoutmaster came back. He might 
never come back if his wound led to his — 
Don could not say that word. He left the 
room. Barbara followed him to the hall. 

“You were counting on Mr. Wall’s help, 
weren’t you?” she asked. 

“Yes,” he said simply. After a moment 
Barbara’s hand gently patted his shoulder. 
Barbara seemed to always understand. 

He let himself out of the house and walked 
away through the night, feeling suddenly 
years older. There was a light burning in 
Mr. Wall’s house, and in the Troop building 


21 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

a dozen scouts sat in the dark and talked in 
low voices. Don took his place among them 
and for a moment the talking ceased. 

“It’s only a slight wound,” said Tim. 

It seemed to Don that the whole night 
turned brighter. He found his voice and 
spoke of past experiences with the scoutmas- 
ter — hikes, days in camp, nights right here in 
Troop headquarters. 

“He — he was all right,” Bobby Brown said 
huskily. 

The night grew late and the gathering broke 
up. Don was the last to go. The light still 
burned in Mr. Wall’s house. On a sudden 
impulse he went to the door and rang the bell. 
Mrs. Wall answered the summons. 

“The scouts are very sorry,” Don said 
lamely. 

Mrs. Wall’s voice broke a little. “We’re 
proud of him, aren’t we?” 

“Very proud,” said Don, suddenly choking. 

He walked home fighting the desire to cry. 


22 


LINING UP FOR DUTY 

There had been other casualties from Ches- 
ter, but this was the first one that touched him 
directly. Even the night wind, whisper- 
ing through the trees, seemed to be griev- 
ing. 

At the end of ten days Joe Rivers returned 
to the bowling alley, and Bobby Brown ceased 
to set pins for the bowlers. Joe had always 
been brown, and hard, and thin, but now he 
was gaunt. Soon his cough was common gos- 
sip among the boys. He treasured a little 
brown pipe that he called a “glimmie,” and 
whenever he smoked it hard spasms of cough- 
ing racked his body. 

“Well,” said Tim, “I suppose we’ll see 
Bobby around again.” 

Bobby came to Troop headquarters that 
night jingling a pocketful of coins. He 
counted his wealth with a bold swagger. 
There were half-dollars, quarters, dimes and 
nickels in the collection. He wanted every- 
body to take envious notice of the money, and 
23 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

in his absorption he did not hear Don enter 
the building. 

“It’s a mistake to carry that much money 
around,” Don said quietly over his shoulder. 

He started, and dropped a piece of silver, 
and put the rest away quickly. He became 
ill at ease; and as soon as Don walked away 
from the other scouts he followed. 

“That is money for next summer’s camp,” 
he stammered. “I earned it in the alleys.” 

There was something of the old Bobby in 
this shame-faced confession. Don’s lips broke 
into a ready smile. “Did you get enough?” 
he asked. 

“I got almost five dollars.” 

Don whistled. “That much pay for ten 
' days?” 

“It isn’t all pay,” said Bobby. “The 
tips — ” His face went scarlet. “It’s differ- 
ent than taking a tip for a good turn,” he said 
quickly. “A man will roll his games and 
throw you a dime. Every pin boy gets those 

24 


LINING UP FOR DUTY 


tips. Joe and Pete Rivers sometimes clean 
up as much — ” Bobby bit his lips. “I’ve 
got enough for one week of camping any- 
way,” he said lamely, and walked toward the 
door. 

Don shook his head. “Throw a dime” and 
“clean up.” How much other than tough 
phrases, he wondered, was Bobby borrowing 
from the Rivers twins. 

Next morning, as Don came from the house, 
Andy Ford was waiting for him at the gate 
with a newspaper. There was a story on the 
front page that America would have to feed 
war torn Europe until the next harvest. 

“The next harvest means the late summer 
of 1919,” said Andy. “Last summer we fed 
our Allies; now we must feed the world, al- 
most. I guess they still need us.” 

Don nodded soberly. The war was over, 
but the call for service still sounded — for his 
father, for the scouts, for everybody. 

Before long he began to hear of a United 

25 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

States Boys’ Working Reserve. This reserve 
was to take boys from sixteen to eighteen years, 
high school boys in the main, and drill them 
for farm work during vacation. For him, the 
reserve was out of the question — he was needed 
at home. For the Troop it was out of the 
question, too, for almost all the Scouts were 
fourteen years or younger. But — He 
paused halfway across a roadway, forgetful of 
everything else but the thought that had come 
to him. Presently he roused himself and 
walked directly to Troop headquarters. 

Tim Lally was there, putting a fresh coat 
of varnish on the Wolf patrol locker. There 
was a paint stain on one cheek, and a smudge 
across his nose. 

“You can bet I’ll never try for a merit badge 
for painting,” he grumbled. 

“Will you round up some of the fellows for 
a meeting to-night at my house?” Don asked. 
“Alex Davidson, and Andy, and Wally 
Woods?” 


2 6 


LINING UP FOR DUTY 


“Sure,” said Tim. “We’ll be there.” 

They came 'with wonder written on their 
faces. Don told them about the reserve, and 
the fine work it intended to do for the farmers 
of the nation. 

“I’ve been wondering,” he said, “if the 
scouts couldn’t take a hand right here at 
home.” 

Instantly they were on the edges of their 
chairs. “How?” Tim demanded. 

“By helping the farmers around us. They 
raise garden truck. That’s what we grow in 
our own gardens. Why can’t we help them?” 

“You mean,” Andy asked, “to let the farm- 
ers know we’re ready to help and have them 
send for us as they need us?” 

Don nodded. 

Wally’s face clouded. “We’ll have to live 
away from home while we’re helping.” 

“We lived away from home when we 
camped two years ago.” 

Tim’s eyes began to snap. “Look here, if 
27 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

we go to a farmer to help him out why can’t 
we take our tents with us?” 

“Make a camping trip of it?” Andy asked. 

“Sure; why not?” 

It dawned on the others what this might 
mean — its possibilities for fun and frolic hand 
in hand with work. Andy began to grin. 
Wally’s face cleared. 

“Watch the Troop go for this,” he said. 

But when Don brought up the subject at 
Friday night’s meeting, some of the scouts 
looked glum. 

“I thought we were going camping next 
summer,” said Bobby Brown. 

“We may be able to, Bobby.” 

“But if we’re going to chase around with 
farmers — ” 

“It’s a question of standing by,” said Don. 
“We must send twenty million tons of food to 
Europe.” He wished there was some way he 
could make the Troop realize how much 
twenty million tons were. 

28 


LINING UP FOR DUTY 


“I’m for standing by,” said Tim. 

“Why can’t we just work our own gardens 
as we did last year?” another Scout asked. 

“Because we must raise more food than we 
raised last year,” Don answered. 

The scout who had asked the question made 
a face. Wasn’t the war over? Weren’t 
scouts expected to have any fun any more? 

“I’ve been saving up for a camping trip,” 
Bobby grumbled. 

“I bet Hoover would like to take you out 
in the woods and lose you,” Tim said in dis- 
gust. 

Don realized that instead of deciding what 
to do, the Troop was beginning to wrangle. 
Mr. Wall would have stopped the quarreling 
at once, but he was afraid to ask for a vote. 
He was not at all sure what the result would 
be. 

“Suppose we let this go over for a week,” 
he said. “Everybody can think it over.” 

Bobby assented eagerly. As soon as the 
29 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

meeting was over he hurried from headquar- 
ters. 

“Gone down to tell it to Pete and Joe,” 
Tim said gloomily. “They surely have him 
charmed.” 

“Why didn’t you tell the Troop we’d live 
in tents?” Andy asked curiously. 

“We’re a fine lot of scouts if we have to 
be bribed to do what America wants us to 
do,” said Don. To-night he was bitterly dis- 
couraged. What a difference a scoutmaster 
made! 

During the week Tim and Andy brought 
him reports of how gossip in the Troop was 
running. Bobby, apparently, had become the 
leader of a no-farming faction. He lounged 
outside the Chester Alleys, and he challenged 
every scout who happened along. Joe Riv- 
ers, sucking on his “glimmie,” seemed to en- 
joy these interviews. “By Harry,” he said on 
one occasion, “this country ain’t all yourn. 
It won’t go busted if you scout fellows has 
30 


LINING UP FOR DUTY 


some fun.” It became apparent, as Friday 
approached, that Bobby’s faction had become 
formidable. 

Thursday afternoon Tim and Andy came 
over to Don’s house and found him working 
on a broken chair in the basement carpenter 
shop. 

“If Bobby hadn’t harped on camping we’d 
have been all right,” Tim grumbled. 

“If somebody could make Bobby see this in 
the right light,” said Andy, “the trouble would 
be over in five minutes. Bobby’s all right at 
heart.” 

Don wondered how he was going to make 
Bobby “see it.” It would do no good to try 
to force him. What a scout did not want to 
do with a good will he might just as well not 
do at all. 

“There’s no knowing what may turn up be- 
fore to-morrow,” said Andy. “Come on, 
Tim. Maybe Don will think up something 
if wc leave him alone.” 


3i 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

Don watched them go. The postman came 
in through the gate, but he did not go to meet 
him. The whistle blew at the front door; he 
heard somebody go along the hall. And then 
Barbara cried to him in excitement: 

“Don! Don! Here’s a letter from Mr. 
Wall.” 

He bounded up the stairs. The telegram 
from the War Department had said “slightly 
wounded,” but — The first paragraph of the 
letter sent him dancing and cheering the 
length of the hall. 

“He’s all right. Bullet in the left shoul- 
der; another in the arm. He’s out of dan- 
ger.” 

With Barbara leaning breathlessly over his 
shoulder he read what followed. When he 
came to the end he sighed. Two bright spots 
of color showed in Barbara’s cheeks. 

“Don! If they know, if Bobby knew, what 
Mr. Wall has seen — ” 

Don drew a deep breath. There was a 
32 


LINING UP FOR DUTY 

chance that if this letter were read at the 
Troop meeting it might switch sentiment in 
an instant. “I’ll tell the scouts I have a let- 
ter,” he said at last, “and that Mr. Wall is 
all right. I won’t tell them anything else. 
I’ll spring this as a surprise.” 

He set out to announce that Mr. Wall would 
sooner or later come back to them. But the 
good news was already flying through Ches- 
ter. An excited scout met him. 

“Mr. Wall’s getting better,” the boy cried. 
“Mrs. Wall’s just got a letter. Gee, Don, she 
grabbed me and kissed me.” 

Within an hour it seemed that every scout 
had heard. There was singing in the Troop 
building for the first time in weeks. For the 
moment, the shadow of the next night’s meet- 
ing was gone. 

Next morning Tim came with disturbing 
news. Pete Rivers, it appeared, was boasting 
that he and Joe and Bobby had a secret and 
that Bobby was going to show some people. 

33 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

Don had intended to keep Mr. Wall’s letter 
from even his closest friends; but now, of a 
sudden, he shoved it into Tim’s hands. For 
a while, after reading, the other boy was si- 
lent. 

“I wouldn’t call the roll by patrols,” he 
said; “I’d call it alphabetically. Bobby’s 
name will come first. Make him vote first. 
Make him stand right up and declare himself 
in advance of everybody else — after he hears 
that letter.” 

Don folded the letter and put it away. 
“Tim,” he said, “you ought to be a politi- 
cian.” 

Tim grinned. “Go on; the Irish are all 
politicians.” 

That night the Troop gathered early. 
Bobby stayed with his supporters until it was 
time to join his patrol. There were fresh 
rumors now — rumors to the effect that Pete 
had said that when the scouts camped next 
summer he and his brother wouldn’t be far 
34 


LINING UP FOR DUTY 


away. From the road outside came a bird 
call that rose, fell, and rose again. At least 
six scouts knew that only Pete Rivers could 
sound a call like that. 

“I have a letter from Mr. Wail,” Don said. 
“I want to read a part of it to you.” 

There was a rustle among the scouts and a 
flurry of whispering. Don took the letter 
from his pocket. Every eye in the room 
watched him as he opened it and held it ready. 
His own heart had begun to throb. Suppose 
this should fail? He began to read: 

“I wish I could make you see France as I 
have seen it — the ruined houses, the old men 
and women with fear in their haggard faces, 
the children, so thin and so white. They don’t 
look anything like the boys and girls we have 
in Chester. I saw a boy the day I was hit 
who was about Tim’s age. He was lying in 
a chair listless and weary. His lungs were 
affected. He had been in a town held for 
four years by the Germans. The doctors say 
he would not have broken down had he had 
35 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

enough to eat. There are thousands like 
him.” 

Somebody drew a deep breath. The room 
seemed to stir and yet no move. 

“The war of guns is over but another war 
has started — a war for food. French soldiers 
who go home find their homes gone, their lit- 
tle orchards ruined, their fields turned topsy- 
turvy by shell fire and piled with wreckage. 
They must build shelters for themselves. 
They must clear their fields. They must 
plant. And while waiting for the crops to 
come they must eat. If some one does not 
supply them with food they will come very 
close to starving. These men who offered 
themselves on the altar of human freedom ask 
America for bread. Women who have given 
husbands, fathers and sons, now look to Amer- 
ica to keep them alive. The nation that 
turned back the German tide of invasion at 
Chateau Thierry is now asked to lend its aid 
so that the terror of famine may be held at 
bay. In Belgium, in Serbia, in almost every 
part of Europe, hunger stalks through the 
36 


LINING UP FOR DUTY 


land. The whole world looks to us. What 
are we going to do about it?” 

Somebody coughed and muttered under his 
breath. 

“If I were with you to explain the situation 
more fully I am sure what your answer would 
be. But I am in a hospital here, and it may 
be a long time before I come home. I want 
to hear from you that every scout in Chester 
Troop is at his post in this great crisis. I will 
be uneasy until your own handwriting tells 
me that Chester Troop has answered the call.” 

Don put the letter down. The room was 
quiet, very quiet. He cast a quick glance at 
Bobby, but that scout was looking down at 
the floor. 

“It’s up to the Troop,” Don said. “I’m 
going to call the roll, not by patrols but by 
alphabet. I want each scout to answer for 
himself. What word do we send to Mr. 
Wall? Scout Brown?” 

37 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

Bobby looked up quickly, and then looked 
down again — and remained seated. 

“Scout Brown!” 

From the road came that bird call. Slowly, 
after a moment, Bobby arose, as though un- 
willing to do that which he did. 

“Farm,” he said. 


CHAPTER III 

PAYING THE BILL 


T HE Rivers’ home was more of a run- 
down cabin than a house. It stood on 
the west bank of Sunset River close to the 
water, and in open weather there was always 
sure to be a flatbottomed skiff tied up close 
to the land and some fishing lines drying in 
the sun. There was a ragged, weedy vege- 
table garden around in the rear. But the pre- 
dominant note was kindling. Great quanti- 
ties of split wood were stacked at irregular 
intervals, and in places the ground was car- 
peted with chips and splinters. For old 
Abraham Rivers, the father of the twins, made 
his living by gathering in the dead trees of 
Lonesome Woods and chopping them for the 
stoves of the people of Chester. 

He was a bent and gnarled old man much 
39 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

given to talking to himself. Now and then 
somebody gave him a discarded coat or an 
old pair of trousers, and whether they were 
a size too large or too small, he wore them 
until some newer gift enabled him to throw 
them aside. The edges of his axes were bright 
and sharp, but everything else about the place 
was rank with neglect. Joe and Pete, his two 
boys, were the most neglected of all. 

They had grown up in this cabin about as 
wild as the small game that peopled the woods. 
Their schooling had been a matter of their 
own sweet will — they had gone to school when 
they pleased and stayed home as their spirit 
dictated. But there was not a fishing hole 
along Sunset River that they did not know, 
nor a bait whose luring power they did not 
thoroughly understand ; and the rabbits in the 
woods knew the runs no better than they. 

It was to this place that Bobby Brown came 
the day after the meeting of Chester Troop. 
The weather had grown cold, and the skiff 
40 


PAYING THE BILL 

had been drawn up out of the water. A thin 
wreath of smoke, arising from the crumbling 
chimney, proclaimed a fire burning within. 
Before Bobby could rap for admittance a 
voice shouted for him to enter. 

He found himself in a barracks of a room 
that was heavy with disorder. Odds and ends 
of clothing had been tossed over chairs, and 
a wobbly table was littered with unwashed 
dishes and the remnants of the last meal. 
Pete, tilted back in one of the chairs, was 
sucking contentedly at a pipe. Joe stood over 
the stove stirring the contents of a pot. Bobby 
identified the odor as rabbit stew. 

“Shoot him, Joe?” he asked. 

“Snared him,” said Joe. 

“You want to look out, Joe. It’s against 
the law to snare rabbits.” 

Joe grinned. “It’s agin our law to go hun- 
gry.” 

Pete blew a cloud of smoke toward the low 
ceiling. “What happened last night? I 
4i 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

gived you the signal but you didn’t come out 
Are they goin’ campin’?” 

Bobby shook his head slowly. 

Down came the tilted chair. “By Harry, 
that’s a nice game, that is. You said me an’ 
Joe could make our camp near yourn and 
you’d come down every day. Didn’t he, 
Joe?” 

“He was lyin’ so we’d show him the best 
fishin’ holes,” said Joe. “I ain’t got no use 
for liars.” 

Bobby, flustered, tried to explain about the 
letter that had come from Mr. Wall. Joe 
stirred the stew and stared directly into his 
face. Pete dug the dead ashes from his pipe 
with a sliver of wood. Some idea of what 
that letter meant seemed to struggle dimly 
into his understanding. 

“Remember, Joe, the time that fellow lost 
his grub overboard and you gived him half o’ 
yourn? Bobby means we ought to go whack 
with the other fellows.” 


42 


PAYING THE BILL 


“Well, why don’t he say so?” Joe de- 
manded. “The fellow I gived the grub to 
was a fisherman. We don’t know these other 
fellows, do we?” 

“No,” said Bobby. 

“They ain’t no relation of ourn?” 

“No.” 

“We ain’t never goin’ to see them, are we?” 

Bobby shook his head. 

“Everybody’s crazy,” Joe said in disgust. 
“Nobody ever worried about us and the old 
man gettin’ grub. Slop up those dishes, 
Pete.” 

Pete gathered the plates and gave them a 
half-hearted washing at the sink. Joe dished 
out three generous portions of stew, and 
Bobby drew his chair to the table. 

“Where’s the biscuits?” Joe asked. 

“Ain’t none,” Pete said shortly. “Old man 
didn’t bother to make none this mornin’.” 
The twins began to eat and Bobby followed 
their example. There were big chunks of 
43 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

rabbit meat, and potatoes, carrots and onions 
swam in the gravy. Bobby knew that no 
scout in Chester Troop could cook like that. 
When the twins were finished they drew back 
from the table and left the plates where they 
were. 

Presently Mr. Rivers came in and stood his 
ax behind the door. “You might a-come 
down an’ helped me with that tree,” he grum- 
bled. 

“Who’d a-cooked your grub?” said Joe. 

The old man went to the stove and helped 
himself, and ate in silence. When he had 
had his fill he took his chair up close to the 
stove. 

“Got any smokin’, Pete?” he asked. 

“No,” said Pete. 

Then, for the first time, he seemed to see 
Bobby. “You ain’t got any?” 

“No, sir,” said Bobby. 

Grumbling and muttering to himself the old 
man fell into a dose. From this he awoke, in 
44 


PAYING THE BILL 


a few minutes, with a fit of coughing. With- 
out a word he took his hat and went out. 

“Pretty nearly time for the old man t’ hole 
up for the winter,” said Pete. “We might 
as well start for the alleys, Joe. Maybe us an’ 
Bobby will find a way to do some campin’ 
yet.” 

Bobby took this to mean that peace had once 
more been established. The road back to 
Chester led to the top of a knoll, and from the 
summit they saw three scouts practicing with 
signal flags in a distant field. 

“You’re feared to take us to that scout 
buildin’ sometime, Bobby,” said Pete. 

“I’m not,” Bobby said indignantly. 

“When will you take us?” the practical Joe 
wanted to know. 

“M-Monday,” Bobby said after a moment 
of hesitation. He wondered what Don would 
say if he knew that the Rivers twins were to 
invade Troop headquarters. 

But Don, at the moment, was not concerned 
45 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

with the goings or the comings of the Rivers 
twins. He was sifting ashes — a regular Sat- 
urday job — and wishing the job was done ; and 
he was congratulating himself, too, that the 
Troop had done that which the government 
at Washington wished it to do. There seemed 
something symbolic in the way Bobby had 
turned about face, something that seemed to 
promise that he was cutting away from the 
thoughts and associations that seemed to rule 
him. 

In fact, with last night’s meeting, all Don’s 
horizon had brightened. There was work to 
be done for every hand that could handle a 
fork, a spade, a hoe and a rake — a truly mag- 
nificent work. America, of all the great pow- 
ers that had fought for human liberty, alone 
was looked to to feed the world. This was 
service. This was self-sacrifice. This was 
the biggest and the grandest kind of good 
turn. 

Months must pass before the ground could 
46 


PAYING THE BILL 

be turned and the seed sown. Don was im- 
patient for the time to come. There were 
moments when he thought himself something 
of a man, but there was still in his nature 
much of boyish impulsiveness. When the 
ashes were finished, he went upstairs to his 
room. He had thought of something, and 
was impatient to do it at once. Before an- 
other half-hour had passed he had written to 
the Department of Agriculture, at Washing- 
ton, and had asked for some pamphlets on 
home gardens “for a Troop of scouts that is 
anxious to do its share.” If America must 
grow more food, the thing to do was to know 
how to grow the most food and the best food. 

He mailed the letter, and walked down to 
the station to meet his father, for this was Mr. 
Strong’s day to come home. Had he left the 
house fifteen minutes sooner he would have 
seen Bobby and the Rivers boys come down 
the street fraternally and go into the bowling 
alley. 


47 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

The night was given over to the pleasure of 
Mr. Strong’s return. There was one of Bar- 
bara’s “party suppers,” and in the evening 
they all went to a moving picture theater. 
Not until the family had returned from 
church next day did Don bring forth Mr. 
Wall’s letter for his father to read. At once 
he was impressed by his father’s seriousness. 

“Don,” his father said, “when a man is 
starving — Let us suppose that some man in 
Chester was starving, and that those in his 
house were famished. His one thought would 
be to get food. If he went forth and took it 
by force, he might kill before his desperate 
adventure was done. That is just one man. 
Now, if everybody in Chester was starving, 
and if everybody in Chester turned bandit to 
get food, the streets and even a man’s home 
would not be safe.” 

The picture was vivid. Don’s nerves 
thrilled. This was the work for which the 
Troop had voted. 


43 


PAYING THE BILL 


“That,” said Mr. Strong, “is the havoc from 
which America is trying to save the countries 
of Europe.” 

All during Monday Don carried the picture 
with him as he worked with his class in high 
school. In the evening, while he was study- 
ing in the dining-room, Tim came to the house. 
There were certain signs by which it was safe 
to assume that Tim was aroused — his face 
would grow red, and his hair would seem to 
bristle. Just now both face and hair were in 
battle array. 

“Joe and Pete Rivers were at Troop head- 
quarters to-day,” he said abruptly. 

The door leading to the kitchen was open, 
and Barbara, putting the dishes away, could 
hear all that was said. 

“How do you know they were?” Don asked, 
concern in his voice. 

“I saw them there.” 

“What were they there for?” 

“I don’t know, but I know this: Bobby 
49 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

brought them. He was with them when I 
came in.” 

“What were they doing?” * 

“Bobby was opening the Wolf patrol locker 
and showing them what was in it.” 

Don laid the book page down on the table. 
“What did you do, Tim?” 

“I ordered them out,” Tim blurted. “They 
tried to give me an argument, and I told them 
I’d run them if they didn’t hurry. Joe gave 
me that grin of his — but he went.” 

“How about Bobby?” Don’s voice was 
low. 

“Bobby went with them.” Tim seemed to 
be uncomfortable. “He — he was sore.” 

Don sighed. He didn’t want Pete or Joe 
loitering about Troop headquarters, but 
neither did he want hot-headed Tim sewing 
the seeds of trouble. It was hard, sometimes, 
to know what was best to do. Why had 
Bobby brought them there? What did Bobby 
see in such rough, hard fellows, anyway? 

50 


PAYING THE BILL 


Since Mr. Wall had gone to war everything 
seemed to run contrarily. 

After Tim was gone, Barbara came from 
the kitchen and leaned over his chair. 
“ What’s wrong with those Rivers boys, Don?” 

“Everything,” Don answered promptly. 
“Fve seen Pete when he looked as though he 
hadn’t even washed his face. Everybody’s 
down on them.” 

“Does that help them to be any nicer?” 
Barbara asked gently. 

There was a staggering thought in that. It 
worried Don until he fell asleep, and it both- 
ered him during the next day. It was still 
with him when he started for home after 
classes. A block from the house he heard 
running feet and voices crying his name. He 
stopped, and Tim and Andy came toward him 
breathing heavily. 

“Come back to Troop headquarters,” Tim 
said. “We want to show you something.” 

Don went with them, wondering what he 
5i 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

was to see. The Wolf patrol locker was open, 
and signal flags, patrol flags, the patrol record 
book and an old poncho were gone. Fastened 
to the door of the locker was a message in a 
rough scrawl : 

You ain’t as smart as you thought you was. 
Climb for you skoting things into the big tree 
on the ball field. 

“Pete Rivers’ work,” Tim said wrathfully. 
“They didn’t break the lock. See? Some- 
body opened it for them.” 

But Don could not believe that Bobby 
would be guilty of such an act. While they 
stood there Bobby came in at a run, breath- 
lessly. 

“Oh!” he said, and stopped short. He 
looked at Tim, and his eyes grew defiant. “I 
just remembered I left the locker open yester- 
day when — ” 

Tim started to laugh, but Don squeezed his 
arm and he became silent. 


52 


PAYING THE BILL 

‘‘It’s all right, Bobby,” Don said. “We’ll 
lock it.” 

The boy looked at them suspiciously, seem- 
ing to guess that they were hiding something 
from him. After a moment he departed, 
slowly. 

“He’s telling the truth,” Don said. “Pete 
must have noticed that the locker was left 
open. Let’s have a look at the tree and see 
what’s there.” 

They saw a bundle high up among the bare 
branches. The flag and the book were 
wrapped in the poncho. 

“He was careful they wouldn’t be ruined if 
it rained,” said Andy. “You’ve got to give 
him that much credit.” 

Tim climbed the tree and brought down 
the bundle. Everything was intact. Andy 
looked inquiringly at Don. 

“If we begin to talk,” said Don, “Pete will 
be in his glory. He won’t dare say the first 
word; he’ll be afraid. It’s no use getting 
53 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

Bobby mixed up in this. He didn’t know it 
would happen. We’ll keep still.’* 

So they said nothing about the episode; and 
when next Don met Pete, Pete looked at him 
frankly puzzled. Within the week the post- 
man left a packet of garden pamphlets from 
the Department of Agriculture and Don dis- 
tributed these among the scouts. Tim shook 
his head ruefully and acknowledged that his 
garden had never been planted according to 
these directions. Bobby put his pamphlet 
away without bothering to look at it. 

The next afternoon, as Don was tramping 
along the Chester Turnpike with a camera, 
he came upon Bobby loafing along the way. 

“•Going any place in particular?” he asked. 

Bobby shook his head and joined him with 
evident reluctance. They went forward at a 
brisk pace and presently made out two boys 
coming toward them — Joe and Pete. 

As the twins came nearer, Don could see 
that Bobby grew nervous. Joe and Pete whis- 
54 


PAYING THE BILL 


pered and laughed as though something 
amused them gfeatly. Arriving abreast Pete 
plainly gave a nod that said “Come along.” 
Bobby’s face grew red. 

“Were you waiting for them?” Don asked. 

Bobby’s face grew redder. “I’m being 
treated like a kid,” he blurted. “I guess I’m 
old enough to pick my friends. Everybody’s 
picking on me, Tim and everybody. I guess 
I can go with Pete and Joe if I want to.” 

“That’s up to you,” said Don. The twins 
had halted in the road. Without another 
word Bobby walked toward them. Once 
more Don wished that Mr. Wall could be 
back in Chester for just five minutes. 

He went on another mile or two. But all 
zest was gone from his walk, and he was glad 
to turn back. Reaching a point where the 
road ran at the bottom of a sort of rocky gully 
he saw Bobby and the Rivers boys sporting 
on the embankment. Some distance farther 
on he met a light wagon piled with cases of 
55 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

empty milk bottles. The driver, a burly, red- 
faced man, was dozing on the seat. 

Within four hours that same driver, blus- 
tering angrily, came to Don’s house and 
wanted to know if a boy named Strong lived 
there. 

“That’s my name,” said Don. 

“It is, eh? Are you the leader of the Boy 
Scouts?” 

“Well, not exactly the leader, but — ” 

“You’re not, eh? Is there anybody that has 
more to say than you?” 

“No, sir.” Don was uncomfortable. 
Something was wrong, and he made a half- 
dozen wild, rapid guesses as to what it could 
be. 

“Then you’re the fellow I want. I have a 
bill against the scouts for two dollars and I 
want my money. They dumped a rock on 
me while I was driving along the Turnpike. 
Struck my wagon wheel and knocked off a 
crate of bottles.” 


56 


PAYING THE BILL 


“Are you sure they were scouts?” Don 
asked uneasily. 

“Didn’t I see them? Do you think I’m 
blind? Three of them, and one villain in 
scout clothes. They ran away, but I saw 
them.” 

And then Don remembered Bobby and the 
Rivers boys playing on the sides of the gully. 
He said that he would take up the matter at 
once, and — 

“When do I get my money?” the driver de- 
manded. 

“We meet Friday night,” Don said. “You 
can stop here Saturday or I’ll send the money 
to you.” 

“I’ll come for it,” said the man. “See that 
you have it.” 

See that you have it! Yes, they had to pay 
it to protect the good name of scouting. But 
— but why should the Troop be made to pay? 
If Bobby wanted to run with Joe and Pete 
and look for trouble, then Bobby should pay 
57 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

for trouble when he found it. Don sighed, 
and took his hat and went around to Bobby’s 
house. 

Bobby opened the door and stood on the 
threshold. “Well?” he asked. 

“You smashed some milk bottles to-day.” 

“It was an accident,” Bobby said calmly. 
“We were balancing on a rock and it got loose 
and fell to the road.” 

“Why did you run away?” 

Bobby looked back into the house to see if 
his mother had been listening, and closed 
the door cautiously. “Joe and Pete ran. 
They’re always being blamed for everything. 
I wasn’t going to stand the blame alone. I 
ran too.” 

The boy’s face had become defiant. Small 
chance, Don thought, to get him to pay for 
anything. Nevertheless he would fight his 
fight to the end. 

“Who’s going to pay for the broken bottles, 
Bobby?” 


58 


PAYING THE BILL 


“How many were broken ?” 

“Two dollars’ worth.” 

Bobby was startled. “How do you know?” 

“The driver came to my house and de- 
manded the money. He said boy scouts had 
dumped a rock down on his wagon.” 

“He’s a liar,” Bobby cried, and instantly 
bit his lips. “I won’t pay it,” he added sulk- 
ily. “Joe and Pete ought to pay one-third.” 

“You know they won’t pay.” 

“Well, neither will I.” 

Don breathed deeply. And only a few days 
ago he had been congratulating himself that 
Bobby had voted for farming as against camp- 
ing! 

“That driver,” he said, “believes that scouts 
did the damage. He saw you in your uni- 
form. If those bottles are not paid for he 
will always say a hard word against scouting. 
We can’t allow that.” 

Bobby was silent. 

“I guess the Troop will have to pay it,” 
59 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

said Don, and walked away. Tim was right 
[Bobby was some scout! 

He went to the paper store to buy a maga- 
zine, and there ran into an argument as to 
how soon the government would lift the ban 
on wireless. An hour later he reached home 
still smarting with that sense of defeat. 

“Bobby left an envelope for you,” Barbara 
told him. 

Even before Don, with fingers suddenly 
nervous, opened it, he felt the hard, round 
edges of silver coins. There was also a note, 
unsigned. The note read : 


Nobody has to make good for me. 


CHAPTER IV 

A NEW PARTNER 

F OR a full minute Don stood motionless 
and stared at the money in his hand. 
He read the note a second time. The short, 
disdainful sentence seemed almost like a slap 
in the face. 

“What is it?” Barbara asked curiously. 

He told the story of the broken milk bottles. 
At first Barbara’s face showed concern; then, 
suddenly, it lighted with a relieved smile. 

“Don! Don!” she chided. “You’re losing 
sight of the big thing. Bobby may not have 
wanted to pay, but he did. Doesn’t that 
count?” 

It counted a lot, viewed in that light. Don, 
with a lighter heart, put the money in his 
pocket. 

The milkman had said he would not come 
61 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

back until the following Saturday; but the 
next afternoon, suspicious and distrustful, he 
appeared once more. 

“I suppose nobody knows anything about 
my broken bottles,” he said. “That’s usually 
the way.” 

“One of our scouts broke them,” said Don, 
and paid over the money. 

The milkman’s whole bearing changed. 
“You’re all right, young fellow,” he said. “I 
was just passing and I thought I’d drop in. 
No hard feelings, eh?” 

“No, sir.” 

“I said all along you were an honest young 
fellow. I told the wife the money was as 
good as in my pocket.” 

Don could not help thinking how different 
the whole scene would have been had he been 
forced to make excuses. That night, as he 
worked over his books, his mind turned to 
IBobby Brown, gruffly refusing to pay one mo- 
ment and bringing the money around the next. 

6 2 


A NEW PARTNER 

Bobby, he thought helplessly, was like a flea, 
jumping here, jumping there, and never in the 
same place for more than a moment. 

He told none of the scouts about the bottle 
incident. What was the use of making things 
unpleasant for Bobby so long as the money 
had been paid? But Thursday, after school, 
Tim Lally met him with the news that Bobby 
and the Rivers twins were in some new trou- 
ble. 

Don was startled. “What kind of trouble, 
Tim?” 

“I don’t know. They smashed something. 
As nearly as I can get it Bobby paid up and 
the twins are taunting him for being an easy- 
mark. Did you hear anything?” 

Don shook his head. That was the truth. 
But if Tim asked him did he know anything — 

Tim. didn’t ask. Instead, his mind changed 
to the next night’s meeting of the Troop. 
“How about heliographing, Don? Can we 
try it with a flash-light?” 

63 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

Don nodded. 

“Whoopee !” cried Tim. “There’ll be some 
fun to-morrow.” By nature he was always 
eager to push on to the new and the unknown. 
Mr. Wall had once said he had the soul of an 
explorer. 

Bobby came to the meeting in time to an- 
swer roll call and pay his dues. The moment 
the business part of the meeting was over, Tim 
and two other scouts began to set up the re- 
flecting mirrors. For a while Bobby held 
aloof, but in the end his natural curiosity tri- 
umphed. He became absorbed in what was 
happening. 

“All right,” said Tim. “Put the lights 
out.” 

The lamps were extinguished. The rays 
of a flashlight cut the darkness, wavered and 
presently came to a halt against the mirrors. 

“Go on, Tim,” cried a voice. “Sena some- 
thing.” 

The result was disappointing. The light 
64 


A NEW PARTNER 


did not seem to lend itself to the work. Once 
a dot and a dash flashed clearly — at least Tim 
thought he had a dash and a dot. 

“You’ve got it now,” Bobby cried shrilly. 

But they didn’t have it. Somebody 
dropped the flash-light and the session was 
over. 

It had been an absorbing meeting. The 
scouts drifted out in clusters talking excitedly 
about heliographs. Bobby went out alone. 
Before he reached the first corner a familiar 
footstep reached his ear. He made room on 
the sidewalk for the figure that overtook him. 

“Did you ask Pete and Joe to pay their 
share?” Don asked. 

“Yes,” he answered shortly. 

“Did they?” 

“Didn’t I tell you they wouldn’t?” 

In silence they walked as far as Main Street. 
There the lights were brighter and they could 
see each other’s faces. 

“Be honest, Bobby,” Don said. “Don’t you 
65 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

feel better for having paid your share?” 

“I suppose so,” Bobby admitted grudgingly. 
“But that doesn’t give me back my two dol- 
lars.” 

The thought that Joe and Pete had not stood 
their share of the damage rankled in his mind. 
For three days he had not been near the bowl- 
ing alley. He awoke the next morning with 
no thought of going out to the cabin ; but after 
breakfast the remembrance of fascinating 
hours and mouth-watering stews drew him 
like a magnet in spite of his resentment. 

The winter was now on in earnest. The 
twins had nailed strips of old carpet about the 
door. Old man Rivers, in a rocker, was 
asleep near the stove. The table had been 
pushed against the wall and the twins, 
crouched on the floor, were fashioning some- 
thing of cord. Bobby watched their deft 
fingers. 

“What are you making?” he asked. 

“Fishin’ net,” said Pete, and spat toward 
66 


A NEW PARTNER 

the wood-box without taking his pipe from 
his mouth. 

There was nothing exciting in a fishing net 
and Bobby grew glum. Presently Joe gave 
a chuckle and nudged his brother. 

“Bottles!” cried Pete. 

“Easy-mark!” shouted Joe, 

“It isn’t fair,” Bobby muttered. 

“Supposin’ we did aim to pay,” Joe de- 
manded. “How was we to know that Don 
ain’t jest stickin’ the money in his pocket an’ 
keepin’ it for hisself?” 

“Don wouldn’t do anything like that,” 
Bobby cried sharply. 

“We was jest supposin’,” Pete said hastily. 
He got up from the floor and threw some fresh 
wood on the dying fire. The subject seemed 
to have been dropped. Save for the deep 
snoring of the old man and the sound of cords 
drawn across the bare floor the room was 
silent. 

Presently it dawned on Bobby that this net 
67 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

was going to be very large. “What kind of 
fishing are you fellows going to do?” 

“Market fishin’,” said Joe. “We’ll clean 
’em up an’ sell ’em in town. That’ll beat set- 
tin’ up pins.” 

Bobby knelt on the floor, and Pete showed 
him how the loops were made and how the 
knots were tied. He grew deeply interested. 
Soon he was lending his help to the work. 

“When are you going to start, Joe?” 

“Come spring. Ain’t no way for to start 
until the ice runs out.” 

“Isn’t net fishing against the law?” 

“Who put them fishes in the river?” Joe 
demanded. “Wasn’t they a river before they 
was any sich places like Chester?” 

Bobby nodded. 

“Well, ain’t the fishes ourn as much as any- 
body’s? What has anybody in Chester got to 
say about it?” 

Bobby had no answer for such reasoning. 
The work of fashioning the net had an ele- 
68 


A NEW PARTNER 

ment of fascination. While he knotted and 
looped the thought came to him that from this 
lesson in net making he would take an accom- 
plishment that no other scout could hope to 
equal. 

By and by the cord gave out. Joe leaned 
against the table leg. “Give’s a draw on your 
glimmie, Pete,” he said. 

Pete handed over the pipe, and Joe smoked 
with meditation and enjoyment. 

“I guess fishin’ ain’t such a bad idee,” he 
said dreamily. “We gets us out o’ our blan- 
ket afore sunup, and we has our hot coffee. 
Then it gits light, and they is colors on the 
water — Ever been on a river at sunup?” he 
asked suddenly. 

“No,” said Bobby. 

“You sure has missed somethin’. An’ after 
we gets the fish we splits a couple o’ fat ones 
and broils ’em. That’s eatin’, that is.” 

Bobby sat enthralled. He could see the 
picture — the sun coming over the hills, the 
69 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

dip of oars in phosphorescent water running 
black and gold, the keen morning air in eager 
nostrils, and after a time crisp, brown fish to 
satisfy a ravenous appetite. He carried the 
picture with him when he left. 

“Why was you talkin’ that way to Bobby?” 
Pete asked curiously of his brother. 

“Bait,” said Joe. “Remember the day Tim 
Lally put us outen the Troop place?” 

“Yep.” 

“Well, I ain’t forgot that.” 

The weeks passed, and Chester Troop stud- 
ied its farming books with a spirit that prom- 
ised wonderful gardens. Then came the 
Fifth Liberty Loan, and Don was asked to 
have the scouts take the responsibility of see- 
ing that Liberty Loan literature was left at 
every house in town. 

The Troop plunged into the work. First 
came the puzzle of dividing Chester into dis- 
tricts so that each scout would have a terri- 
tory. At last the job was done. 

70 


A NEW PARTNER 


“We can distribute to-morrow,” said Don. 
A patrol of scouts went down to the head- 
quarters of the Liberty Loan Committee and 
carried back pamphlets, circulars and pic- 
tures. 

Tim’s route took in part of Main Street. 
It was late in the afternoon when he came 
to the bowling alley. The place seemed de- 
serted ; the lights were out over the long, pol- 
ished alleys and the interior was gloomy. He 
waited for a while at the tobacco counter hop- 
ing the owner would appear. Growing impa- 
tient at last, he put the literature under a 
metal cigar cutter and turned toward the door. 

Joe Rivers lounged in the doorway taking 
up almost all the space. His eyes were nar- 
row, and his mouth was twisted into a taunt- 
ing grin. 

“I want to get out,” said Tim. 

“Nobody’s stoppin’ you,” said Joe. 

Tim tried to step past. Joe’s elbow plowed 
into his ribs. The next moment the doorway 
7i 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

was a confusion of arms, and the Liberty Loan 
literature was on the ground. 

“Here!” cried a voice from inside. 
“What’s this?” 

Instantly Joe gave ground. Tim gathered 
his papers. A few were trampled and dirty, 
and he cast them aside. He was breathing 
heavily. One of Joe’s eyes was beginning to 
puff. 

“What’s the meaning of this?” the voice de- 
manded again. 

“That rough-neck tried to start something 
as I was going out,” Tim said wrathfully. He 
went his way, and felt a grim satisfaction in 
the sound of angry, arguing voices that echoed 
from the bowling alley. 

Back in the place Joe listened sulkily to a 
blistering lecture that reviewed all his sins of 
the past six months. Gradually he worked 
himself into an ugly mood. He brought out 
the pins and dumped them into the alley pit 
with a clatter. 


72 


A NEW PARTNER 


“What are you trying to do?” cried his em- 
ployer. “Break them?” 

Joe muttered something under his breath. 

“I don’t like the way you’re acting, either.” 

“You know what you kin do, don’t you?” 
Joe asked darkly. 

“Sure,” said the employer; “and I guess I’ll 
do it. You’re fired. Get out.” 

Joe got his coat and hat and collected what 
was due him. “Gimme Pete’s, too,” he said. 
“Pete ain’t goin’ to work without me.” 

Meanwhile, Tim was delivering the last of 
his literature along Main Street. In his mind 
was but one thought — to finish and tell Don 
of the encounter. But the story was never 
told — not that night, anyway — for when he 
came to Don’s house there was news awaiting 
him that drove Joe Rivers completely from 
his consideration. 

“Ted Carter’s been wounded,” Don said 
breathlessly. “I have another letter from Mr. 
Wall.” 


73 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

Tim found a chair and sank into it* 
“Badly?” he asked after a moment. 

“He’s lost an arm.” Don’s voice sounded 
husky. 

Mr. Wall’s letter was short: 

“Yesterday I was wheeled out into the sun; 
and there, sitting on a bench, was Ted Car- 
ter — with an empty sleeve. A high explosive 
shell got him in the Argonne; but he was the 
same old Ted, and for two hours we talked 
over old times. I understand he is booked 
to sail home shortly. I hope you will invite 
him to talk to the Troop. He will make you 
see this war and what it has meant.” 

Tim’s eyes grew thoughtful. He could 
picture the last game the Chester nine had 
played — he behind the bat, Don pitching, and 
Ted on first base. He remembered the day 
Ted had departed for the city to enlist, and 
how they had all gone down to the station to 
see him off. And now he would come back, 
74 


A NEW PARTNER 


never again to play first base, never again to 
shrill a call across the diamond and hold up 
his big mitt for the ball. 

“Gee!” said Tim, and shook his head. 
“His name hasn’t been in any casualty list.” 

“There are bound to be slip-ups,” said Don* 
“with so many men to keep track of.” He 
read the letter again, but it said nothing about 
Mr. Wall coming home. 

For two days Ted Carter’s injury was the 
big topic of conversation among the boys of 
the town. When the Troop met on Friday 
night there was very little work done, for al- 
most every scout could remember games on the 
village field in which Ted had played the 
hero. Would they invite Ted to talk to them 
when he came home? There was no need to 
take a vote. 

The meeting was over and the scouts were 
just beginning to straggle out when Andy Ford 
thought of something. 

“Say,” he said, “Pete and Joe Rivers aren’t 
75 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

working at the bowling alley any more.” 

This was news to Bobby — and it was news 
to Tim. They both stared in astonishment. 

“What did they do?” Tim asked. “Quit?” 

“They were fired,” said Andy. “That is 
Joe was fired, and Pete went out with him.” 

“What are they doing now?” 

“I don’t know. They’re not working in 
Chester.” 

Don thought that this was the best piece of 
news he had heard in six months. With the 
Rivers twins out of Chester for good — He 
looked at Bobby, and read the concern on that 
boy’s face, and began to whistle softly. No 
matter how Bobby felt, he reasoned, the situa- 
tion was improved. The Rivers boys were 
out of the way, and that was bound to count 
for much. 

But if Don went home happy, Bobby went 
home in a troubled frame of mind. Ever 
since the day he had helped with the net and 
had listened to Joe’s description of sunrise on 
76 


A NEW PARTNER 


a river, he had given himself over to dreams 
of perhaps having a few days’ fishing with 
the twins. If they were away from Chester 
he might not see much of them, and the string 
of their friendship might be broken. He 
wondered why Joe had lost his job. 

An hour after breakfast next morning he 
was on his way to the cabin. The net had 
grown wonderfully. The chair where Mr. 
Rivers was accustomed to sleep by the stove 
was vacant, and Joe and Pete had thrown it 
aside to give themselves more room. Bobby 
squatted on the floor and began to loop and 
knot. 

“You weren’t fired, were you, Joe?” he 
asked. 

Joe’s eyes narrowed. “Who was sayin’ I 
was? Tim?” t 

“Tim didn’t say anything.” 

“Well, I up an’ left. Folks what’s goin’ 
into business for theirselves don’t have to set 
pins in nobody’s alley. You ain’t never 
77 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

thought o’ how much money they is in fishin’, 
I guess.” 

Bobby hadn’t. 

“It’s jest like this,” Joe went on. “Fish 
don’t take nothin’ out o’ your pocket; they 
jest grows. When you go out and ketch fifty 
or sixty they ain’t no expense. How many 
pounds in fifty or sixty?” 

“ ’Bout thirty,” said Pete. 

“An’ fifteen cents a pound. How much is 
that?” 

The mental arithmetic was altogether too 
•much for the twins. It was Bobby who an- 
swered the problem 

“Four dollars and a half.” 

J oe nodded vigorously. “ Y eh ; four dollars 
an’ a half. That’s money, that is. Four dol- 
lars an’ a half every day. I bet you ain’t 
never thought they was that much money in 
fish.” 

Bobby looked at Joe with admiration. 
Twenty-seven dollars a week seemed to him 
78 


A NEW PARTNER 


to be wealth, and that was the amount they 
would earn every six days from fishing. 
Why, Alex Davidson got only $5 a week for 
helping at the grocery. 

“Maybe we ought to let Bobby in on this 
business o’ ourn,” Joe said slowly. 

Pete gave a start, opened his mouth to say 
something, caught a look from his brother 
and subsided. 

“You mean you’re willing to sell me a 
share?” Bobby asked eagerly. 

“Sure,” said Joe. “Why not? We need 
cord for to finish the net. Pete and me was 
talkin’ it over before you corned in. How 
much would fifty cents a day be — what 
part?” 

“One-ninth,” said Bobby. He thought a 
moment. “That’s right.” 

“Yeh; that’s it — one-ninth. We was sayin’ 
maybe we would go for to sell you a one- 
ninth for two dollars. That’s a bargain, ain’t 
it?” 


79 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

It seemed to Bobby to be the greatest kind 
of bargain. In four days, once the fishing 
started, he would have his money back, and 
after that would come a fifty-cent profit every 
day. 

“I can’t give you the money until to-mor- 
row,” he said fearfully. 

“To-morrow’ll do,” said Joe. He worked 
on the net until Bobby left, and then he sat 
back with a hard, thin smile on his wizened 
face. 

“I’ll learn them scout fellows,” he said. 
“First they throws me out of their Troop 
place and then they has me fired from the 
alley.” 

“What you goin’ to do?” Pete demanded. 

“Goin’ to muss their trail,” said Joe. 
“They reckon to have a high time farmin’, 
don’t they?” 

“Yeh,” said Pete. 

“And they think for to have every scout 
fellow with them. Well — ” The smile 
80 


A NEW PARTNER 


grew harder. “Bobby’s got money in our fish 
business, ain’t he?” 

“Yeh,” said Pete again. 

“Folks goes where they has their money, n 
said Joe. 


CHAPTER V 


DISAPPEARING HAVERSACKS 

S PRING came — the warm, moist, allur- 
ing, mysterious days of spring. Back- 
yard gardens were dug, and raked, and sowed 
with seed. Hedges were clipped, lawn 
mowers hummed musically, and the trim of 
houses was made wholesome with fresh paint. 

In all Chester none were busier than the 
scouts of Chester Troop. Benches and chairs 
were carried from headquarters, floors and 
walls were scrubbed, and glass was polished 
until it shone. Then Alex Davidson, stretch- 
ing tired muscles near an open window, saw 
Mrs. Wall beginning to dig her own garden. 
There was a hurried consultation, an order, 
and the scouts made off in different directions. 
Fifteen minutes later they were back with 
82 


DISAPPEARING HAVERSACKS 


forks and spades and rakes, and the absent 
scoutmaster’s garden became the first 1919 all- 
together garden of Chester Troop. 

To Don the season became one of intense 
activity. There were screens to overhaul and 
put up, loose shingles on the porch roof to 
nail into place, his own garden work to do, 
his lessons to prepare, and added to all that 
the many duties required of him as leader of 
the Troop. It seemed that, six days a week, 
from early morning until late at night, there 
was not a moment he could call his own. But 
on Sunday the toil of a week was done; for 
then, after church, he could laze on the porch 
in the sunshine and talk to his father about 
all that had happened during the week. It 
began to look as though Mr. Strong would be 
able to leave the shipyard by September or 
October. 

Occasionally Don went through the town 
and examined the home gardens planted by 
the scouts. Almost every one of them seemed 
83 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

to carry an air that spoke of a tremendous 
effort to do its share against the wolf of fam- 
ine. Tim’s garden was almost as impetuous 
as its keeper — the rows laid unevenly and run- 
ning into unexpected places, but the plants 
growing stocky and strong. The gardens of 
Alex Davidson and Andy Ford were quiet 
and dependable — after the fashion of Alex 
and Andy. But Bobby’s garden — 

He was not there when Don appeared, 
though notice had been given at the last Troop 
meeting that inspection was on the way. The 
weeds had gotten a good start. He had evi- 
dently been hoeing between rows of beans and 
had dropped his hoe precipitately for the hoe 
was lying between two rows with the earth on 
the steel still fresh. The cleared ground 
ended with ragged abruptness as though he 
had ceased his labors in the middle of a 
stroke. 

In truth Bobby was torn — and had been 
torn this day — between the desire to do one 
84 


DISAPPEARING HAVERSACKS 


thing and the duty of doing another. He 
knew full well that his garden work was a 
“must” job. He knew that every additional 
ounce of food grown in America meant an 
additional ounce of food that could be sent to 
the starving of Europe. But as against all 
this was the fact that out at the Rivers’ cabin 
the big net was almost finished. As the need 
for cord had grown he had invested another 
dollar and now owned not a one-ninth interest, 
but a one-eighth. 

The time when the net would be carried to 
the river and let down was approaching, and 
daily his home garden became a more dis- 
agreeable task. He began to put it off from 
day to day. All at once he found himself 
facing a fight with weedy robbers of the soil 
— and he had no heart for a fight. 

At the cabin they now worked outdoors on 
the net. Old man Rivers, as silent as some 
gray ghost, dragged trees to the clearing and 
split them without paying the slightest atten- 
85 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

tion to what the boys were doing. And they, 
in their turn, paid no attention to him, save 
that Pete and Joe were spry to see that there 
was food for him when he came to eat. One 
day there was roast squirrel larded with fat 
bacon. Bobby’s mouth had watered over the 
thought that he would get some of that; but 
after the cld man had gone back to the woods 
Pete came from the cabin with a look of dis- 
gust on his face. 

“You fellows go on workin’,” he said. 
“I’m goin down t’ the river for a fish.” 

“What’s the matter with them two squir- 
rels?” Joe demanded. 

“He et ’em all up,” said Pete; and, growl- 
ing and muttering, Joe resumed his labor. 

“I bet we’ll get ourn first the next time,” 
he said darkly. 

But a smoking hot fish, and bread dipped 
in bacon fat, put him in a better humor. 

“Maybe we kin start our fishin’ come Satur- 
day,” he said. 


86 


DISAPPEARING HAVERSACKS 

Bobby’s heart leaped. This was Monday. 
Six more days— Would the net be really fin- 
ished in six days? 

“We’re aimin’ to,” said Pete. 

Bobby walked home on air. In the garden 
he found a note from Don tied to the hoe 
handle : 

I looked in this afternoon, but you weren’t around. 

Bobby flushed, and then tossed his head de- 
fiantly. After next Saturday he’d be earning 
fifty-six cents a day — he should worry. Nev- 
ertheless, he resumed his hoeing, only to stop 
at the end of fifteen minutes and go into the 
house for a drink. Something in a newspaper 
captured his attention. He carried it out to 
the porch, propped his back against a porch 
pillar, and forgot that there was such a thing 
as a garden in the rear of the house. 

Next morning the news ran through Ches- 
ter that Ted Carter had arrived from overseas 
at a nearby military hospital, and was expected 
home on furlough on the morrow. 

' 87 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

Even the net, almost ready for the water, 
was not strong enough to draw Bobby next 
day. At noon he learned that Ted had not 
yet arrived. He bolted his dinner, and hur- 
ried to the railroad station to await the com- 
ing of the 12:50 train. Ted was not on that, 
either; and Bobby raced for school in an ef- 
fort to get in through the doorway before the 
last bell rang. Breathlessly he ran up the 
outdoor steps, and charged into Don and Tim 
in the hall. 

“Ted here?” Don asked eagerly. 

Bobby shook his head. “I just came from 
the station.” 

“What’s the next train?” Tim demanded. 
“The 3:20?” 

Bobby nodded. 

“Me for the station right after school,” said 
Tim. 

It seemed, at five minutes after three, that 
every boy in Chester had come to the station. 
The station agent, getting his express parcels 
88 


DISAPPEARING HAVERSACKS 


ready, had to shoo them away half a dozen 
times. At last the warning bell at the cross- 
ing began to ring. 

“Here she comes,” cried a voice. 

The train rounded a curve and roared in at 
the station with a hissing of steam and a grind- 
ing of brakes. A man and a woman came 
down from the forward coach. Two men 
and a boy left the rear car. From the 
middle coach, came a straight thin figure in 
khaki. 

Somehow, the cheer that started ended ab- 
ruptly. This was not the Ted Carter that 
Chester had known. Ted had gone away just 
a boy; this returning hero was a man. There 
was a suggestion of gray in the hair above the 
temples. The eyes were quiet and deep as 
though they had looked upon strange sights. 
And one sleeve was turned up at the middle 
and swayed gently. 

“Gee!” said Tim with a gulp. “His right 
arm!” 


89 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

A dozen times since morning Don had 
planned what he would say when he and Ted 
met. The sight of that empty sleeve and the 
look in those eyes sent a strange shudder 
through his nerves. He saw Mrs. Carter 
with her arms around Ted’s neck; he saw Mr. 
Carter holding Ted’s good arm. Slowly he 
backed away. Nobody noticed him. He 
couldn’t stay — he just couldn’t. 

“Did you see Ted?” Barbara asked when 
he reached home. 

He nodded, and walked to the kitchen win- 
dow, and stared directly at the garden and saw 
not a plant. “War — war is tough,” he said 
huskily. 

After supper he walked slowly to Ted’s 
house. As he entered the gate, the front door 
opened, and Bobby Brown stepped out onto 
the porch. Ted was with him, and they were 
talking and laughing — Ted in the deep bass 
of a man, Bobby in the shrill treble of a boy. 

“Gosh!” cried Bobby. “It must have been 
90 


DISAPPEARING HAVERSACKS 

great to have been in all that fighting.” 

At that the laughter went out of Ted’s voice. 
“It was a job that had to be done,” he said. 
He held out his left hand to Don and together 
they entered the house; and Bobby, in high 
spirits, went off down the road whistling 
“ Over There’ ’ at the top of his pitch. 

“How is he heading?” Ted asked, nodding 
after the whistling boy. 

Don shook his head. “You know the Riv- 
ers crowd, don’t you?” 

Ted nodded. 

“He’s running with them.” 

“I thought he looked different,” Ted said 
simply. About his wound he would not talk 
at all. “I want to forget it,” he said, and 
stared across the room with a far-away look 
in his eyes. 

“But you’ll talk to the scouts, won’t you, 
Ted?” 

“Yes; I promised that to Mr. Wall.” 

Don came away sobered. What changes 
9i 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

the war had wrought! His father had not 
lived home for a long time, Ted Carter had 
suddenly grown years older, and heavy re- 
sponsibilities lay on his own shoulders. Only 
two years ago he and Ted had gone to school 
together, had played ball together on the vil- 
lage field — and now the past was gone. There 
were times when even Barbara seemed to be 
in some way changed. 

Next day he passed the word that Ted Car- 
ter would address Chester Troop Friday 
night. That afternoon, on his way home from 
school, he met Pete Rivers. He thought that 
Pete had been loitering and waiting for him, 
but he was not sure. 

“Has Ted Carter corned home?” Pete 
asked. He had, in spite of his grin, the fur- 
tive air of a boy who wonders what his recep- 
tion is to be. 

“Ted got home yesterday,” Don said. 

“Ain’t he got no right arm?” 

“No.” 


92 


DISAPPEARING HAVERSACKS 


“Damn!” said Pete softly. Then: “Is he 
aimin’ to speak at the scout place to-mor- 
row?” 

“To-morrow night,” said Don. 

Without a word Pete walked off. The 
trousers he wore had been made originally 
for some bigger person ; his thin legs plopped 
about in them like sticks of wood in pillow 
cases. He had turned the trousers up at the 
bottom so that they had big, heavy cuffs, but 
even at that they were grotesque and sorry- 
looking. Don, watching him, found running 
through his mind something Barbara had once 
said about fellows who never had a chance. 

“I’ll bet he’s looking for Bobby,” Don 
thought uneasily. 

But if Pete was looking, he looked that day 
in vain. Bobby had found a bigger hero than 
two easy-going, neglected youths whose ac- 
complishments lay along lines of hunting and 
fishing. He followed at Ted’s heels wherever 
Ted went. The empty sleeve fascinated him. 

93 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

And when Ted walked into troop headquar- 
ters the next night Bobby was at his side like 
some silent, persistent shadow. 

The night was warm, and both windows 
and doors were open. Around the doorway 
the boys of Chester clustered. Bit by bit they 
crept into the room ; and when nobody ordered 
them out they took possession of the corners 
and appropriated places along the walls. 
Two shadows hung outside the farthest win- 
dow and made no attempt to enter the place. 

“Hello, there, Ted Carter,” cried Joe Riv- 
ers’ voice. 

Tim, jumping up, walked over to close the 
window. 

“Tim!” Don called. Tim came back to 
his seat. A mocking laugh came from the 
window. 

It was a new Ted Carter who spoke to the 
scouts of Chester that night, the Ted Carter 
who had come back from the war, a man. 
He brought France into that Troop building 
94 


DISAPPEARING HAVERSACKS 


and made them see what he had seen — the 
ruin, the devastation, the horror, and the 
heroic resistance that would not bow its head. 
He told them of the days when it seemed that 
Germany could not be beaten. He told them 
of Chateau Thierry where American marines 
stopped the German tide, of Belleau Wood, 
and of those last days in the Argonne when 
the foul power of Imperial Germany was 
shattered. He told of broken, wrecked vil- 
lages through which his regiment had passed, 
and of how the liberated populations had 
come up from wretched cellars to meet them 
— old men and women tottering with weak- 
ness, scared, white-faced children, and young 
girls who looked like grandmothers. 

“They were all hungry,” Ted said simply; 
“they are hungry yet. So many of the men 
of France have been killed, so few are left 
to till the fields. This year’s harvest will not 
be big — there is so much to do, so much land 
to be cleared, so many houses to be built. 

95 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

That is why we must help. That is why not 
a pound of food must go to waste. Don tells 
me you are all farming, and that you are going 
to help in the farms around Chester. When 
you do that I want to tell you that you’re just 
as good a soldier as any man who went to 
France.” 

Don’s heart gave a heavy thump. He stole 
a glance at Bobby. That boy’s eyes were fixed 
on Ted, his cheeks were flushed, his lips were 
parted, and his breath came quickly. 

“But you can’t do work all the time,” Ted 
went on. “Even in the Argonne, when the 
fighting was at its worst, they brought us out 
and gave us some rest. You fellows must get 
some fun, too, to keep you fit. The last thing 
Mr. Wall said to me was this: ‘Ted, tell 
them to have a good time as they go along. 
Tell them to keep up their hikes.’ How long 
is it since you fellows have had a hike?” 

“Months,” said Tim quickly. 

“ ‘Ted,’ Mr. Wall said to me, ‘if you find 
96 


DISAPPEARING HAVERSACKS 


them rusty send them off on a hike at once.’ ” 
Ted looked around at the gathering. 

“Let’s go hiking to-morrow,” cried Andy 
Ford. 

“Second the motion,” boomed a voice from 
the rear of the hall. Everybody began to talk 
at once. Ted raised his hand. 

“Mr. Wall sent another message,” he said. 
There was a moment of silence. “He said to 
me, ‘Ted, my scouts will see this thing through 
like real Americans.’ ” 

“You — you can just bet we will,” said Bobby 
huskily. 

The meeting broke up. Over at the win- 
dow Joe Rivers called half a dozen times, but 
to-night Bobby was deaf. At last, in a tem- 
per, Joe trudged off with his brother. 

Pete walked slowly as though turning some- 
thing in his mind. He found his pipe, turned 
the lining of a pocket inside out, and scraped 
some tobacco grains into the palm of one 
hand. 


97 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

“Maybe we oughten to take Bobby away 
from farmin’/’ he said doubtfully. 

“Yah!” snorted Joe. “Go on now an’ get 
like the old man that there time he went and 
got hisself religion. Jest cause he heard 
somebody speechin’ didn’t he go for to stop 
us smokin’? And what corned o’ it? 
Weren’t we sneakin’ our terbacco in no time?” 

“But Ted said them people was hungry.” 

“We’s been hungry, too,” Joe retorted, and 
brought forth half of a cigarette. He lighted 
it, and inhaled deeply. “I jest wonder,” he 
said, “if Bobby will remember t’ come around 
to-morrow.” 

“You ain’t aimin’ to let down the net to- 
morrow?” 

“They ain’t no harm in lettin’ him think so, 
is they?” Joe demanded. 

He was right in one respect — Bobby, in the 
morning, gave not a thought to the cabin. He 
had completely forgotten that he was the part- 
ner in a fishing enterprise, and that this was 
98 


DISAPPEARING HAVERSACKS 

the day on which there was a chance that the 
business might start. The lure of the hike 
had entered into his blood; the memory of 
other campfires stirred his imagination. He 
was the first scout to appear at Troop head- 
quarters ready for the road, his canteen filled, 
his haversack bulging. He was one of the 
first to strike out when the Troop marched off 
toward the Turnpike. 

“We’ll go out about five miles,” said Don. 
“I want every scout to keep his eyes keen for 
a good camping place. Perhaps we could 
camp some place near Chester. If we were 
needed for farm work, somebody could ride 
out on a bicycle and tell us.” 

“Five miles of this,” said Tim, “and then 
for a feed. Oh, boy!” 

“I’ve got steak and potatoes,” cried a voice. 

“I’ve got two legs of chicken,” cried an- 
other. 

“I’ve got a can of tomatoes,” said Bobby. 
Three scouts cried “Wacko!” and offered to 


99 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

share with him. And in this fashion, shout- 
ing, laughing, joking, they covered the first 
two miles and approached the place where a 
path turned off to the Rivers cabin. 

Joe and Pete were near the path leaning 
lazily against the remains of a tumble down 
fence. Pete grinned as the scouts trudged 
past. Joe’s eyes narrowed as he saw Bobby. 

“I thought you was cornin’ to-day,” he said 
darkly. 

Bobby halted. “You know how it is, Joe. 
You heard what Ted Carter said last night.” 

“If me and Pete is goin’ to do all the work 
then all the fish money is ourn,” Joe an- 
nounced. 

“Close up,” Tim cried from the front. 
“You fellows are straggling back there.” 

Bobby hurried forward. He wasn’t think- 
ing about campfires now, or dinner, or a camp 
sight. He had suddenly remembered that 
this was the day the net was to have been 
spread in the river, and Joe’s threat to bar 


ioo 


DISAPPEARING HAVERSACKS 

him from the profits of the venture filled him 
with alaism. 

There was one significant thing that he did 
not notice. The moment the rear end of the 
column went forward Joe and Pete lost their 
laziness and disappeared down the path. But 
Don saw the movement, and a sudden suspi- 
cion took root in his mind. 

The country through which the scouts 
passed was ideal for hiking — gentle rises, 
small valleys and far horizons. They passed 
Lonesome Woods, the camping ground of 
wandering gypsies, and left Danger Moun- 
tain behind. Twice Don stood a§> though sur- 
veying the hikers, but in reality his eyes swept 
the back country. The third time he looked 
the troop was in a hollow. Skirting the top of 
the high ground he saw two forms. One min- 
ute they were there ; the next minute, gone. 

He knew what those forms meant. Joe and 
Pete Rivers were trailing the Troop. 

Don kept his own counsel. By and by they 


ioi 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

came to a patch of roadside woodland. Dead 
wood lay there in abundance. As though in 
obedience to a command the Troop halted. 

“Just made to order for a dinner camp,” 
Wally Woods said softly. 

“We’re not going to halt so soon, are we?” 
Tim demanded. “We haven’t found any real 
camping site yet.” 

“Why can’t we go on and leave our haver- 
sacks here?” Andy Ford asked. “I don’t 
know how you fellows feel, but mine’s getting 
heavy.” 

“Mine, too,” agreed Bobby Brown. 

“We’ll have to leave somebody on guard,” 
Tim said wisely. “Suppose a tramp came 
along, wouldn’t he have a haul?” 

But nobody wanted to stay behind. In the 
end they drew sticks. The shortest fell to 
Bobby. He looked disappointed, but un- 
slung his haversack. 

“Throw them in a pile,” he said. “You 
won’t be long, will you?” 


102 


DISAPPEARING HAVERSACKS 


“Not more than an hour,” Don promised. 
As the scouts started forward again, his face 
grew troubled. If Joe and Pete were still 
trailing — At a turn in the road he stopped, 
and stood for five minutes looking back. 
Bobby sat at the foot of a tree with his head 
thrown back apparently lost in thought. 
No skulking forms appeared along the 
road. Satisfied at last, Don hurried after the 
others. 

A mile farther on they found the spot they 
wanted. It stood at the top of sloping ground. 
The drainage was perfect. And here, too, 
was firewood in abundance, and water. 

“Everybody satisfied with this?” Don 
asked. 

There was a shout of approval. 

“Now for the eats,” cried Tim. “Pm 
starving.” 

Back they went, and rounded the turn in 
the road from which Don had watched. 
Bobby was no longer sitting under the tree. 

103 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

Andy Ford shouted his name. There was no 
response. Don felt his nerves twitch. 

“It would be just like that kid to stray off,” 
Tim said angrily. “Suppose somebody got at 
those haversacks.” 

There was a rush for the pile. Don made 
a megaphone of his hands: 

“Bobby! Oh, Bobby!” 

Silence. 

“His haversack’s gone,” Wally Woods cried 
breathlessly. 

“So is mine,” Tim Lally said grimly. 


CHAPTER VI 

DON GOES TO THE CABIN 

D ON was sure that Joe and Pete had ap- 
peared on the scene, and that Bobby 
had gone off with them. He had either gone 
willingly, or there had been a rumpus and 
he had been forced to go. Quietly, so as not 
to arouse suspicion, Don studied the ground. 
There were no scuffling footmarks in the 
dusty road, such as would have been marked 
there had there been a struggle. 

“What are you looking for?” Andy Ford 
asked in an undertone. 

Don started, and raised his eyes, and said 
he had merely been thinking. 

Though Tim’s haversack was gone, there 
was no chance that he would go hungry. 
Every scout in the Troop wanted to share with 
105 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

him. With set lips he gathered wood for the 
fires, and accepted food from all — a potato 
here, bread and jelly there, meat some place 
else, and cocoa from still another quarter. 

“You ought to be glad your haversack’s 
gone,” Fred Ritter sighed with his mouth full 
of beans. “You get more to eat this way.” 

“If that haversack’s gone Bobby’s going to 
pay for it,” Tim said, “or I’ll know the reason 
why.” 

Tim’s trouble seemed to throw a blanket of 
repression over the party. By and by the last 
scrap of food was gone, and the fires died 
down to ashes. While these were turning 
black, the other scouts seemed content to laze 
around, but every few minutes Tim would 
step out into the road and look with intent 
gaze back toward Chester. 

“What are we going to do for the after- 
noon?” Fred Ritter asked. 

“This suits me,” Andy Ford yawned. 
“I’ve been working in the garden every after- 
io 6 


DON GOES TO THE CABIN 


noon and studying every night. I’m just 
about due for a lazy spell.” 

“This is a scabby place to loaf.” Wally 
Woods looked about him critically. “If you 
want to fill a canteen there’s no water. Let’s 
go back to the place we picked for our camp.” 

There was a sudden scramble of activity 
among the scouts. 

“Better carry your haversacks this time,” 
said Tim. “Coming, Don?” 

“I — I want to write in my diary,” Don said. 
“I’ll be along.” 

Tim looked at him suspiciously, but ended 
by following the others. Don took a little 
book from his pocket and pretended to write. 
As soon as they rounded the turn and passed 
from sight, he put the book away. Bobby 
had either deserted his post for Joe and Pete, 
or he had not. The point had to be settled. 
If he had gone off with them, it was coming 
close to the time when Bobby would have to 
pick one crowd or the other. He could not 
107 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

travel with the pack and at the same time run 
with the hounds. 

And then there was the matter of Tim’s 
haversack. Don’s eyes hardened a little. 
Was it possible that a scout would deliberately 
carry off another scout’s haversack knowing 
that it contained his dinner? Could Joe and 
Pete have carried it off and perhaps have 
rifled it? Or — Don stopped short — could 
something have happened to Bobby in the lit- 
tle time they were away? 

It was two miles to the cabin on the bank 
of the river. Using the scout’s pace Don 
covered the ground rapidly. Almost before 
he was aware of the distance he had covered, 
he was at the path. He turned in, walking 
slower now and using his eyes. The vege~ 
table patch had a sorry, weedy, run-down-at- 
the-heel look. Old man Rivers, laboriously 
chopping wood, did not even lift his eyes as 
he passed. And then he was in the open door- 
way. 


108 


DON GOES TO THE CABIN 


He saw a disordered, littered room, the floor 
bare and the walls unpainted. Spread out 
across the floor and caught up on the backs 
of chairs was a monster fishing net, the bot- 
tom weighted with pieces of lead, the top 
stiff with pieces of wood lashed to the cord. 
Three boys, their backs turned, were attach- 
ing more of the wood — Joe, Pete and Bobby. 

“Why didn’t you fellows say you weren’t 
going to put the net over to-day?” Bobby com- 
plained. 

“What’s eatin’ you now?” Joe demanded. 

“I wouldn’t have come away had I known 
you weren’t ready.” 

“ ’Fraid o’ Don Strong an’ Tim Lally?” 
Joe taunted. His tone changed. “Your 
time’s yourn, ain’t it? They ain’t no arguin’ 
that, is they?” 

Bobby was silent. 

“They ain’t no law compellin’ you to sit an’ 
watch things, is they? Everybody went off 
to have a good time for hisself an’ jest left you 
109 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

there. An’ now, you poor nut, you’re 
moochin’ around like a sick calf.” 

“Well, suppose something happened to 
those haversacks,” Bobby answered with 
spirit. “They trusted me to watch them. If 
I had known the net wasn’t ready — ” He 
reached for a piece of wood, and out the 
corner of his eye saw the figure in the door- 
way. Slowly he turned and faced Don, and 
the color flamed into his cheeks. 

“Where’s Tim’s haversack?” said Don. 

Joe spun around, surveyed the visitor, and 
backed up a few steps and leaned his thin 
shoulders against the wall. The old sarcastic 
grin came to his face. Pete, for all that he 
tried to carry a careless air, was plainly dis- 
concerted. 

“Where’s Tim’s haversack?” Don asked 
again. 

“I didn’t touch it,” cried Bobby. “It was 
in the pile. It was the top one. I saw it as 
I came away.” 


no 


DON GOES TO THE CABIN 


“It wasn’t there when we got back.” 

“But nothing could have happened to it 
We came away, and then Joe said he wanted 
to go back for a minute — ” Bobby gave a 
start. 

For a moment Joe lost his defiant pose. 
“Maybe Tim’s lyin’,” he said. 

“I was the first one back,” said Don. 

“Well — ” Joe’s eyes snapped. “Well, 
maybe — ” 

“You shet your mouth,” Pete said in a low 
voice. 

Joe became quiet. Old man Rivers came 
into the house, took a drink of water from a 
pail, and passed out again without having 
given any of the boys a glance. Don took a 
step toward Bobby. 

“Why didn’t you stay with the haversacks?” 

“I meant to, Don. But Joe and Pete came 
along — ” 

“They didn’t pull you away, did they?” 

“N-no. They said they wanted to get the 


hi 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

net out and for me to hurry and help them. 
We’re going to catch fish and seM them in 
town.” 

“We?” Don’s voice carried a note of sur- 
prise. 

“I — I’ve bought an interest in the business,” 
Bobby said, not without a certain air of im- 
portance. 

Don looked at Pete — and Pete looked away. 
Joe hunched his shoulders and grinned again. 

“You didn’t intend to put that net out to- 
day,” Don said suddenly. 

“That’s our business,” Joe answered. “We 
ain’t asking nobody to mix up in business 
what’s ourn.” 

“You didn’t intend to put that net out to- 
day,” Don said again. This time he spoke to 
Pete. 

“Well — maybe we didn’t,” said Pete. 

Here was a sign of relenting, at any rate. 
Don pressed his advantage. 

“It wasn’t fair to lure Bobby away,” he 


1 12 


DON GOES TO THE CABIN 


said. “I knew you were trailing us, and — ” 

“You didn’t,” cried Joe. “Where did you 
see us?” 

“When we were down in the hollow and 
you were on the hill.” 

Pete turned on his brother. “I told you to 
keep under cover that time.” 

Joe was silent again. There was another 
advantage. Don hurried on: 

“Maybe some of the other scouts saw you. 
We didn’t guard the haversacks because we 
were afraid of you fellows. We didn’t want 
a tramp or a gypsy straying along. You know 
how the gypsies camp in Lonesome Woods. 
We didn’t think you fellows would steal 
them.” 

“You ain’t never heard nobody say we stole 
nothin’,” Pete challenged. 

“You stole Bobby away,” Don answered. 
“That wasn’t fair, Pete. And now Tim’s hav- 
ersack is gone.” 

It was apparent at once that Don had scored 

113 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

a point. Had he tried to bully he would have 
struck fire; instead, he had spoken as though 
he were addressing his own scouts. Not many 
persons spoke to the Rivers boys like that. 
This thing of being “treated right” was a new 
experience to Pete. He liked it. 

“How about Tim’s bag?” he demanded of 
Joe. 

“I flung it,” Joe said sullenly. 

“You’ve got to find it,” Bobby cried. “You 
shouldn’t have done that.” 

“Got to play fair,” said Pete. “You listen 
to me, Joe; you find it. Got to play fair.” 

“I’m going back with him,” Bobby said. 

Don came away at once and left them. He 
was sure that he had scored a victory. He 
had won the Rivers boys over to right a wrong, 
and he had probably made Bobby see them in 
a less rosy light. A quarter of a mile up the 
road he paused and looked back. Joe and 
Bobby were just emerging from the path. 

All that concerned Don now was getting 
114 


DON GOES TO THE CABIN 


back to the Troop before his absence would 
occasion concern. Once more he used the 
scout pace, and his distance from camp rap- 
idly melted away. Presently he was at the 
scene of the midday cooking. He paused a 
moment, regained his breath, and went on 
toward where the scouts were idling away 
the afternoon. As he drew near he heard 
them arguing about the best way to pack a 
haversack. A load went off his mind. If 
they had been arguing, they had probably not 
noticed how long he had been away. 

“I’ll leave it to Don,” cried Fred Ritter. 
“I say that the best way to pack a haver- 
sack — ” 

He listened to the argument. Suddenly he 
sensed that a face was missing. He looked 
about him carefully. 

“Where’s Tim?” he demanded. 

“He went back to see where you were,” said 
Wally Woods. “Didn’t you meet him?” 

Tim had gone back — Don jumped to his 
1 15 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

feet All at once he remembered how sus- 
piciously Tim had looked at him when he said 
he wanted to stay behind and write in his 
diary. Why hadn’t he seen Tim? What had 
happened this time? 

“I’ll be back in a minute, fellows,” he said. 
He knew, without looking back over his shoul- 
der, that they, too, had come to their feet and 
were following him, puzzled and alarmed. 

As he turned the bend in the road, he saw 
Bobby and Joe Rivers reach the scene of the 
noontime camp and turn into the patch of 
woods. He quickened his pace. A minute 
passed, and they came out carrying the miss- 
ing haversack. And then, like a thunderbolt, 
a form sprang out from the other side of the 
road and fell upon them and sent them reeling. 

Don broke into a run. “Tim,” he called. 
“Don’t do that, Tim.” He could see his vic- 
tory of the cabin fading. 


CHAPTER VII 


TANGLED THREADS 

B Y the time Don arrived Tim was mas- 
ter of the situation. Feet wide apart, 
shoulders hunched, he stood belligerently in 
the middle of the road. One hand gripped 
the straps of the recovered haversack; the 
other swung back and forth restlessly as 
though ready for anything that might hap- 
pen. Bobby, his mouth agape with aston- 
ishment as though he did not yet know what 
had happened, sat in the dust. Joe, used to 
a rough and tumble existence, crouched on 
one knee and surveyed Tim with hot eyes. 
“Why don’t you get up?” Tim demanded. 
Joe remained on his knee, and even man- 
aged to give a hint of that exasperating grin. 
Don, breathless from excitement, stepped 
117 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

between them. “Enough of that, Tim,” he 
said. 

“Did you see them trying to steal off with 
my haversack?” Tim demanded. 

“You lie,” said Joe. “We ain’t never stole 
nothin’.” 

Bobby scrambled to his feet. “We weren’t 
stealing off with your haversack. We were 
bringing it back.” 

“You were, were you?” Tim surveyed him 
darkly. “Where did you have it?” 

“None o’ your business,” said Joe. “You 
got it back, didn’t you?” 

“I don’t know whether I did or not,” Tim 
retorted. He bent over the haversack; and 
while he loosened the straps the Troop came 
up and stood silently watching the scene. 
v Tim pulled out the food he had intended to 
eat for dinner, a frying pan, a cup, a soap 
holder, a sewing kit — He paused and be- 
gan to put them back. 

“Anything gone?” Don asked. 

1 1 8 


TANGLED THREADS 


Tim shook his head. Bobby gave a sniff. 
Instantly Tim’s wrath blazed anew. 

“You can’t go on running with the scouts 
and running with the Rivers gang,” he cried 
hotly. “If you’re going to pal around with 
Joe and Pete you get out of the Troop.” 

“I have something to say about that,” Don 
said. 

Tim’s face grew pale. Twice he opened 
his mouth to speak; twice with an effort he 
checked himself. In the end he bent down 
again and began to tighten the haversack 
straps. Joe arose from his crouching posi- 
tion. 

“I wish I’d flung it so far we wouldn’t never 
’a’ found it,” he said spitefully. “I knew I 
was a fool to let Pete talk me into cornin’ back. 
Never again! Come on, Bobby, let’s be trav- 
elin’.” 

Bobby went a step with him and hesitated. 
Tim, grim and silent, did not look up from 
what he was doing. 

119 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

“I — I didn’t know about the haversack,” 
Bobby said. “I told the truth in the cabin.” 

“I know it,” said Don. “So long, Joe.” 
After all, the twin had come all the way back 
to right a wrong. 

Joe, swaggering insolently, went down the 
road without looking back and Bobby fol- 
lowed in his footsteps. Don watched them in 
silence and wondered if he had acted wisely 
in allowing Bobby to leave the Troop again. 
Perhaps, had he gone about it the right way, 
he could have held Bobby. But the other 
scouts, puzzled and curious, would want to 
ask questions and it were best that these ques- 
tions be asked while Bobby was not around. 
Oh, what a mess everything was in! 

Tim drew the last strap tight. For almost 
a minute no one spoke. The scouts glanced 
quickly from one to another. 

“You went back looking for Bobby, didn’t 
you?” Andy Ford asked of Don. 

Don nodded. 


120 


TANGLED THREADS 


“Where did you find him?” 

“In the Rivers cabin.” 

Somebody whistled. “Did they have the 
haversack with them?” Tim demanded. 
“Did you make them bring it back? What 
were they doing with it coming out of the 
woods, making off with it again?” 

“Bobby didn’t know about the haversack,” 
Don explained. “Joe and Pete followed us 
and prevailed upon Bobby to go off with them. 
Unknown to Bobby, Joe threw the haversack 
among the brush. When I told them it was 
gone, Bobby demanded that Joe go back and 
get it.” 

Tim grunted. “I can see Bobby making 
Joe do anything.” 

“Pete made Joe do it,” said Don. “Pete 
said they had to play fair.” 

At that the whistle sounded again. “Say,” 
said Fred Ritter, “there’s something square 
about Pete at that.” 

Tim’s face flushed. Nobody spoke of the 


1 2 I 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

fight over the haversack, but he suspected 
that every scout was thinking he had spoiled 
whatever Don had accomplished at the cabin. 
It was all so plain — Don arguing with them 
and winning Pete, Joe coming back rebel- 
liously but nevertheless coming back, and then 
in the end being greeted with a blow. Tim 
bit his lips, and trudged on moodily as the 
Troop walked toward home. 

Soon a figure drew up alongside him on 
the road. Out of the corner of his eye he 
saw that it was Don. 

“Pm — sorry about that,” he said. 

“I guess I’d have done the same thing in 
your place, Tim.” Don drew closer. “I 
didn’t want to tell the others why Bobby left 
— not to-day, anyway. They’ve got enough 
to talk about for one day. The twins have 
him tied up in a company.” 

“A what?” 

“A fish company. Keep your voice down. 
They’re going to stretch a net in the river and 


122 


TANGLED THREADS 


sell the fish in Chester. Bobby has bought an* 
interest. They got him away by telling him, 
that they want him to help them take the net 
to the river and put it down.” 

“The little fool! Doesn’t he know they 
stopped netting the river years ago? It didn’t 
pay.” 

“Well, he’s tied up with them, anyway. 
He’s all keyed up about it; it’s something new. 
So long as he thinks there’s a chance of making 
money he’ll just about live at the cabin. This 
thing to-day — I’m not blaming you, Tim* 
but I wish it hadn’t happened.” 

“I’m always spilling the beans,” Tim 
blurted. 

But regrets did not help matters any. 
When the Troop passed the cabin the door was, 
open and Pete was in the yard, but Bobby/ 
was not in sight. Nor did Pete look up as; 
their steps stirred the dust of the road. The- 
scouts whispered among themselves and 
looked down curiously at the hollow. 

123 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

“Did you have a good time?” Barbara 
asked when Don reached home. 

“Pretty good,” he said, and ran up to his 
room to change his clothing. This thing of 
coming to Barbara with every little trouble — 
he couldn’t do that forever. He’d have to 
learn to stand on his own feet. But, never- 
theless, after he was out of his scout uniform 
and back in everyday dress, he sat thoughtfully 
at his window and stared out at the village 
road, and sighed. Mr. Wall couldn’t come 
home from France any too quickly to suit 
him. It was one thing to send word from 
France that the Troop should go hiking; it 
was another thing to go hiking and have every- 
thing run at sixes and sevens. 

A week later Ted Carter departed for a re- 
construction hospital at Washington to learn 
a one-armed trade. A group of boys, Don 
among them, went down to the station to see 
him off, but Bobby did not appear. Don was 
disappointed. In a vague way he had hoped 
124 


TANGLED THREADS 


for a meeting with Bobby without being at 
all sure as to what the outcome would be. 
Perhaps if they could get together — 

He had not seen Bobby since the day of the 
hike. The boy had not come to the Friday 
night meeting. Acting on sudden impulse 
Don decided to hunt him up at his home. 

Bobby was not there. Mrs. Brown thought 
that he would not be home until late in the 
afternoon. 

“I think he is engrossed in some fishing 
scheme,” she said. “He hasn’t told me very 
much about it. I thought it was a scout ven- 
ture.” 

Don shook his head. 

Bobby’s mother looked at him quickly. 
“It’s all right, isn’t it, Don?” 

“I — I suppose so,” Don said uncomfortably. 
He wished the question had not been put to 
him. He didn’t like this thing of carrying 
tales — and anyway what could he say save that 
Bobby was consorting with two shiftless char- 
125 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

acters? Pete and Joe’s boast “We ain’t never 
stole nothin’,” was true. According to their 
lights they were “square.” 

He walked on back to Bobby’s garden and 
shook his head as he looked at it. The weeds 
were running wild. The rows of beets were 
overwhelmed. The early cabbages looked 
wormy. The bean plants had not been 
thinned and were choking one another. The 
scene told its own story of indifference and 
neglect. And this was a scout garden! 

“I wonder if they’re really doing any fish- 
ing,” Don said aloud. He walked home 
thoughtfully. 

Next morning he was awake and dressed 
by five o’clock. Ten minutes later he was 
swinging along the Turnpike with the moist 
fragrance of the dawn in his nostrils. The 
early sun was still misty in the sky. When 
he came near the Rivers cabin he left the 
road and skirted through a wide field. Ar- 
riving at the river he concealed himself be- 
126 


TANGLED THREADS 


hind some bushes and made a sharp survey 
of the stream. 

Some distance to the north he saw a boat 
upon the water. From its movements he 
judged that it might be working along the 
length of a net. By and by he caught the flash 
of oars in the sun, and as the boat drew nearer 
he heard the slap of the blades in the current 
and the squeak of the oars in the locks. In 
a few minutes the boat beached below the 
cabin. Joe and Pete stepped out, gathered 
up a meager mess of fish and walked with dis- 
couraged steps up the embankment that led 
from the river. 

Don drew back, once more skirted through 
the field and came out on the Turnpike farther 
down. He had learned that the firm of Riv- 
ers Bros. & Brown was actually in the fish: 
business; and he had learned, too, that the 
business was not going any too well. What 
effect that would have upon Bobby he could 
not even guess. 


127 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

Friday night the Troop met again. “Scout 
Brown!” called the Scribe, but no voice an- 
swered. Andy Ford, the Troop treasurer, 
drew Don aside at the conclusion of the meet- 
ing. 

“He sent me his dues by mail,” Andy said. 

Don’s face broke into a smile. “He hasn’t 
dropped us, has he? I’ll bet he’ll be around 
in another week.” 

But another meeting passed, and no voice 
answered “Here!” when the Scribe called 
Bobby’s name. 

“He didn’t mail me any dues this week,” 
said Andy. 

Of course, that might have been an over- 
sight, but the situation didn’t look as well as 
it had looked seven days ago. To go to Bobby 
and try to reason with him — Don gave that 
up. What was the use? The fishing business 
was like a disease that would have to run its 
course. It might cure Bobby of Pete and 
Joe or it might kill his interest in scouting. 

128 


TANGLED THREADS 


Two days later word reached Don that 
Bobby was no longer spending the whole day 
out at the Rivers cabin. Fred Ritter saw him 
in his garden making a half-hearted effort to 
rout out the weeds. Monday he was at the 
village field and played ball most of the after- 
noon. That night Tim Lally came around to 
Don’s house and sat with him under the grape 
arbor. 

“The fishing business was a frost,” he said. 

“How do you know?” Don asked quickly. 

“Oh, it’s all over town.” 

“Have they quit for good?” 

“No; they’re going farther up the river and 
try a new place. Pete and Joe say they’ll go 
some place where the stream hasn’t been fished 
out. I hear they plan a three-day trip.” 

“Is Bobby going with them?” 

Tim shook his head. “Nobody knows any- 
thing about that. If he intends to go he isn’t 
saying anything. How did he ever get tied 
up with that Rivers crowd, anyway?” 

129 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

“I guess it just happened,” said Don. And 
then he added: “Mr. Wall’s been away, for 
one thing.” 

When he came into the house after Tim had 
left, his mother and Barbara and Beth were 
discussing the illness of a Mrs. Warren. Don 
cocked up his ears. 

“Who’s Mrs. Warren?” 

“Mrs. Brown’s mother,” said Barbara. 
*“She’s Bobby’s grandmother. I met Mrs. 
Brown at the grocer’s. She was saying that 
her mother had a bad cold and that the doctors 
were afraid of complications.” 

Don went upstairs to bed. Mrs. Warren’s 
Illness seemed to have no bearing on his own 
troubles, or on the question of what was to be- 
come of Bobby, or on Chester Troop. 

He slept late next morning. When he came 
downstairs his mother was out in the garden 
cutting roses and Barbara was making biscuits 
for supper. 

“Bobby Brown’s grandmother is not ex- 
130 


TANGLED THREADS 


pected to live,” Barbara said. “Mrs. Brown 
ran in for a moment this morning. She got 
a telegram advising them to come to the city 
at once.” 

Don reached for the second egg. 

“They plan to leave here on the noon train,” 
Barbara added. 

Even that didn’t interest Don — much. 
Part of the garden had to be spaded for a sec- 
ond planting of beans, and he bent his back 
to the work the moment he came from the 
kitchen. But he had been working only a few 
minutes when Barbara’s voice came to him 
from the back porch. 

“Don! Oh, Don!” 

He went back to the house. Mr. Brown, 
hot and worried-looking, was mopping his 
face impatiently. 

“Mrs. Brown and I must get out of here on 
the noon train, Don,” the man said. “You 
know how a sick house is, everything upset. 
We can’t very well take Bobby, so we’re leav- 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

ing him home. Just keep an eye on him, will 
you? I’ve got to hurry on.” 

“But — ” Don began, and stopped. Mr. 
Brown was gone. He leaned against the door 
and fanned himself with his hat. 

“Is Bobby cutting up again?” Barbara 
asked. 

“Again?” Don gave her a look. “Yet, 
you mean.” He went back to his digging, and 
every now and then stopped to look across the 
garden thoughtfully. Keep an eye on Bobby! 
A year ago that would have been easy, for half 
the time Bobby would have been right in this 
yard. Evidently Mr. Brown was of the opin- 
ion that Bobby was still a scout in the best of 
standing with his Troop. 

Coming on to noon Don saw Mr. and Mrs. 
Brown hurrying toward the station, and 
Bobby alongside struggling with a heavy grip. 
Later Bobby came back alone. The boy 
studiously studied the other side of the 
road. 


132 


TANGLED THREADS 


“I wonder,” Don mused, “if he was told I 
was to keep an eye on him.” ' 

“There goes Bobby,” Barbara called softly. 

“Oh, he saw me,” said Don. By this time 
the beans were planted, and he picked up fork 
and rake and put them away in the cellar. 
When he came upstairs to the kitchen Andy 
Ford was standing at the foot of the back 
porch steps talking to Barbara. Without 
knowing why, Don was at once sure that Andy 
brought news of Bobby. 

In a few minutes Barbara went into the 
house. Andy motioned to Don, and they 
walked toward the gate 

“You know about Bobby’s father and 
mother going away, don’t you?” Andy asked. 

Don nodded. 

“Do you know what he’s planning to do?” 

Don shook his head. 

“He’s fixing things to start up river with 
Joe and Pete Rivers to-morrow. He’s to be 
gone three days.” 


133 


CHAPTER VIII 

BOBBY TRAVELS AN UNEXPECTED ROAD 

D ON stood behind the gate and moved it 
back and forth, gently, as though this 
latest outburst of Bobby’s was not worth a 
single worry. Andy did not suspect the train 
of confused thoughts that was rushing through 
his mind. 

“How do you know he’s going on this trip?” 
Don asked quietly. 

“He told me so himself; not fifteen minutes 
ago. He was like a kid on a holiday. His 
mother and father away and no one to stop 
him.” 

Don winced. He had been asked to keep 
an eye — “What time do they start?” he 
asked. 

“To-morrow morning at sunrise. They’re 
134 


AN UNEXPECTED ROAD 


going to paddle all the way. I guess 
Bobby’ll go out to the Rivers cabin to-night. 
Say, Don, he’s about the only scout who isn’t 
a strong swimmer. If anything happened — ” 

“He’s old enough to know what he’s doing,” 
Don said shortly, and turned back toward the 
house. The table was set for dinner, and he 
sat down between his mother and Barbara. 
But saying that Bobby was old enough to 
know better did not take the problem from 
his mind — neither did it satisfy his own heart. 
Mr. Brown had asked him to keep an eye on 
Bobby. Mr. Brown expected — Well, what 
did Mr. Brown expect, and just how far could 
he go in dictating the goings and comings of 
a boy almost his own age? 

“You’re not eating,” Barbara said. He 
came to himself with a start, met her eyes and 
flushed. “Is it about Bobby?” she asked. 

“Yes,” he said. 

“I thought Andy had something to tell you. 
What’s Bobby up to?” 


135 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

“He’s going up the river on a three-day 
trip with those Rivers twins.” 

Slowly Barbara broke a piece of bread. 
Whenever he had gone to her in the past she 
had always been able to advise him ; and now, 
though he was beginning to tell himself that 
he must play the man and solve his own prob- 
lems, he eagerly waited for her to tell him 
what he should do in this case. In the end 
she shook her head. 

“You’re not giving up,” he cried in dismay, 
all idea of the importance of solving his own 
problems crushed in an instant. 

“I don’t know what to say, Don. It’s too 
big for me.” 

He heard his mother say “Maybe if Don 
talked to him — ” and saw Barbara spread her 
hands with a gesture that said “No use.” 
Somebody tapped on the front door and blew 
a shrill whistle. 

“Special delivery,” a voice called. 

Don signed for the letter. The envelope 
136 


AN UNEXPECTED ROAD 


was addressed, “Donald Strong, Scout Leader, 
Chester.” He ripped it open, took out the 
letter and read: 


Clear Valley, July 21. 

Dear Sir: My crops are ripening and I 
need help badly. I understand the Boy 
Scouts are willing to give farmers a hand. 
Can your boys come out at once? Let me 
know. 

Alfred Joyce. 

It was the Troop’s first call for service. 
Don handed the letter to Barbara and ran up- 
stairs for his cap. The events of the past 
hour were forgotten. When he came down 
Barbara was putting the letter back in the en- 
velope. 

“How about it, mother? Can you man- 
age? The garden is in pretty good shape. 
Barbara — ” 

“I’ll look out for things,” Barbara said; “it 
will be fun to fuss around.” She handed him 
the letter. “How about Bobby now?” 
i37 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

Don stopped short. 

“He might prefer to go on this trip rather 
than go with Joe and Pete.” 

“That’s so,” Don agreed eagerly, and was 
gone. He met one scout on Main Street, an- 
other in the candy shop near the station, an- 
other playing ball on the village field. 
Within five minutes all three of them were 
rounding up the members of Chester Troop. 

The mobilization brought the scouts to 
Troop headquarters excited and clamoring. 
Most of them had heard of Bobby’s intended 
trip, and many thought that the mobilization 
call had to do with him. 

“You’re not going to allow that kid to get 
into trouble like that, are you?” Tim de- 
manded in an undertone. 

“Wait!” said Don, and read the letter. A 
din of questions pounded in his ears. When 
should they start? To-morrow morning? 
Right away? 

“Get home and find out if you really can 
138 


AN UNEXPECTED ROAD 


go,” Don ordered. “If you can make the 
trip, bring regular camping stuff — blankets, 
extra underwear, everything.” 

“This place, Clear Valley, is on the river,” 
Ritter cried. “Can we camp in tents?” 

Don nodded. There was a break for the 
door. 

“How about Bobby?” said Tim. The 
scouts paused. 

“I’ll talk to him,” said Don. He had 
something to offer now, one program against 
another — a patriotic duty, a good turn of the 
best kind, and a camping trip in the bargain. 

He found Bobby in a disordered kitchen 
wrapped in a smeary apron. The boy was 
taking advantage of his mother’s absence to 
try his hand at making taffy. He was stirring 
a thick mixture in a sauce-pan, and not once 
did he lift his eyes while Don told him of the 
message that had come and of the desire of 
the Troop to start as soon as possible. 

“You’re coming, of course,” said Don. 
i39 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

Bobby did not answer. 

“We’re going to camp along the river — ” 

Bobby unmistakably turned up his nose. 

All at once Don’s blood grew warm. “You 
agreed to go farming if the call came,” he 
cried. “You voted for it. Now you want to 
-back out and run off with a couple of fel- 
lows — ” 

“Why shouldn’t I want to go with them?” 
Bobby blazed. “They treat me decent, any- 
way. I’m going with them to-morrow and 
that’s all there is to it.” 

Don came away. When he got back to 
Troop headquarters Tim and Andy Ford were 
there ready for the march and were overhaul- 
ing the trek wagon. Tim finished inspecting 
a lantern and hung it under the cart. 

“Well?” he asked. 

“He isn’t coming,” said Don. 

“If he comes with the scouts,” Tim said 
[ quietly — very quietly for him — “he’ll be do- 
! ing something decent. If he goes with that 
140 


AN UNEXPECTED ROAD 

Rivers crowd you can’t tell what may happen. 
My advice is to make him come.” 

“How?” Andy asked. 

“Kidnap him,” said Tim. “Drag him 
along.” He was serious about it. 

Don shook his head impatiently. Kidnap- 
ing? Why — He walked to the door, and 
stared down the road for a long time. Keep 
an eye on him, Mr. Brown had said. If Mr. 
Brown knew what was happening back in 
Chester — Several scouts, arriving with their 
equipment, passed him in the doorway. He 
made room for them absent-mindedly. Pres- 
ently his mood of brown study gave place to a 
degree of action. He glanced at the sky. 

“There’ll be a moon to-night,” he said over 
his shoulder. “How about hiking it to-night, 
and making camp about midnight?” 

The assent was tumultuous. 

“All right,” said Don. “Let your folks 
know. We’ll leave here about eight o’clock. 
I’m going home for my things.” 

141 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

Up in his room he got into uniform, packed 
his haversack and rolled his blanket. After 
that he sat at the windaw until Barbara called 
him to supper. He ate almost in silence. 
When he had finished he ran his arms into 
the straps of the haversack. 

“Did you see Bobby?” Barbara asked. 

“I saw him.” 

“Is he going?” 

“Yes.” 

“Oh, Don, I’m so gl — ” The speech ended 
abruptly. She looked at her brother keenly. 
“Did he say he was going?” 

“He’s going,” said Don. “I’m not going 
to tell you anything about it — perhaps it is best 
that you know nothing. But he’s going.” 

The old understanding smile came to 
Barbara’s face. “Good luck,” was all she 
said. 

At seven o’clock Don got back to headquar- 
ters. As he had expected, at the last moment 
eight or nine scouts found that they could not 
142 


AN UNEXPECTED ROAD 

go. The others were there, waiting impa- 
tiently. He called Ritter aside. 

“Run up to Bobby’s house,” he said. 
“Don’t let him see you. Just find out if he’s 
there and what he’s doing.” 

Ritter, wondering, departed. Don called 
Tim and Andy. “Want to take a walk with 
me?” he asked. 

“What for?” Andy asked. 

“Oh, just a walk.” 

“Count me,” said Tim in a voice that held 
an edge of excitement. 

“We’ll wait until Ritter comes back,” said 
Don. 

Twenty minutes passed — and then Ritter re- 
turned. By that time the trek wagon had been 
run out into the street, the lantern had been 
made ready, and a dozen busy hands were 
testing knots and lashings. 

“He’s in the kitchen getting something to 
eat,” Ritter reported. “He has a haversack 
all packed. Is he coming with us?” 

143 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

“I imagine so,” said Don. He turned to 
Andy and Tim and nodded, and a wide grin 
settled over Tim’s face. 

“Oh, boy!” he said. The mission had 
dawned on him. “Think we’ll have to rush 
him, Don?” 

“This won’t be a kidnaping,” said Don. 
“He’ll come of his own accord.” 

Reaching the house where Bobby lived, they 
withdrew to the other side of the road and sat 
behind a shielding hedge. By degrees the 
dusk turned to shadow, and then to darkness. 
There was a light in the Brown kitchen, but 
abruptly it went out. 

“Come on,” said Don. 

They walked out into the road and saun- 
tered down to Bobby’s gate. Just as they 
reached it the front door opened, and Bobby 
appeared on the porch. He locked the door, 
tried it, and came down the short walk whis- 
tling. 

“Hello, Bobby,” said Don. 

144 


AN UNEXPECTED ROAD 

The whistle choked in the middle of a note. 
Bobby stopped short. 

“H-hello!” He looked doubtfully at the 
three forms in the darkness. 

“Got your haversack, haven’t you?” Don 
said genially. “I knew you’d come with us.” 
He took the boy’s arm and turned him toward 
the Troop building. Tim and Andy fell in 
behind. 

Bobby pulled his arm free. “I’m not go- 
ing that way.” 

“Of course you are. Don’t be foolish. 
The Troop’s waiting for you.” 

“But—” 

“Oh, come on,” said Don, and urged his 
arm again. 

“I tell you,” Bobby said angrily, “Pm not 
going with the Troop. You can’t make me do 
what I don’t want to do. I guess I have some 
rights. I’m not going.” 

“Oh, yes, you are,” said Tim, urging him on 
from behind. 


145 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

This time Bobby withdrew his arm with a 
wrench. A quick spring, and he was outside 
the triangle that had hedged him in on three 
sides. 

“‘Keep away from me,” he panted. “If you 
touch me I’ll shout for help. I’ll yell. I’ll 
shout I’m being kidnaped.” 

“All right,” said Don; “you’ll have to shout 
then. And you can tell your father when he 
comes home that we were trying to stop you 
from going off with Joe and Pete.” 

“You — you big bully!” Bobby cried almost 
tearfully. After all he was only a boy, and a 
very small boy at that. 

“I knew you’d come with us,” Don said 
again, and touched his arm. Without a word 
Bobby walked ahead of them toward Troop 
headquarters. 


CHAPTER IX 

ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE RIVER 

H AD the scouts, waiting outside Troop 
headquarters, been at all observant 
they would have seen that of the four boys 
who presently came toward them, one at least 
carried no rollicking, holiday air. Don, 
Andy and Tim were laughing and joking, but 
Bobby Brown was glumly silent. His eyes 
smoldered with wrath. 

“Better put your haversack in the trek cart,” 
Don said. 

Bobby took it off and pitched it in. 
Nobody paid any attention even to that. 
The vision of the road, the magic of traveling 
through the mystery of the night, blinded their 
eyes to all else. Don walked over to the 
Troop building to lock the door. Bobby, 
i47 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

with a defiant glance at Tim and Andy, fol- 
lowed him. 

“You had better let me go my own way,” 
he said darkly. 

Don tried the door as though he had not 
heard a word of the threat. 

“There’ll be trouble about this,” Bobby 
warned. 

Don turned away and walked back toward 
the waiting scouts. 

Bobby stamped his foot in rage. “I won’t 
go.” 

Still Don paid not the slightest attention. 
“All right, fellows. Forward, march!” A 
dozen hands pulled eagerly at the shaft and 
the wheels turned. Without a single back- 
ward glance Don walked ahead as though it 
were all settled what Bobby would do. But 
Tim and Andy waited suggestively for the 
laggard. Bobby muttered something under 
his breath and shuffled after the Troop. 

It was eight forty o’clock by the time-piece 
148 


THE OTHER SIDE OF THE RIVER 


in the confectionery store window as the trek 
cart passed through Main Street. As long 
as they were in Chester the roads were fairly 
bright; but the moment the town was left be- 
hind the whole night turned black. The sky 
was like some mysterious dark dome, punc- 
tured by tiny pin-point stars. The moon, a 
pale crescent, rode low in the heavens. The 
wind whispered night noises through the 
branches of the roadside trees. The scouts 
drew together in little groups, and even 
Bobby walked closer to Andy and Tim. 

Presently the trek cart hit a depression and 
bounced, and a haversack fell off. Ritter put 
it back. After that three scouts went out in 
front as an advance guard. 

The moon rose higher and gave a faint ra- 
diance that made the road even more ghostly 
than it had been before. A gray, dim reflec- 
tion seeped through the trees. Except for the 
occasional barking of a dog and the croaking 
of the frogs, the soft thud of marching feet 
149 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

was the only sound that broke the sleeping 
stillness of the night. 

It had been hot back in Chester; here in 
the open road the air grew cool. Once they 
passed a farm wagon, creaking loudly as it 
went toward its destination. Twice the glare 
of approaching automobile headlights sent 
them scuttling to the side of the road for 
safety. They passed a wooden bridge over a 
shallow stream. The planks were loosely laid 
and rattled and jumped noisily as they crossed. 
And all the while, as the miles dropped be- 
hind them, a certain something spoke to them 
out of the night and thrilled them, and gave 
them a little shiver of fear even as it thrilled. 

“And you wanted to miss this,” Andy Ford 
said to Bobby in an awed voice. 

“The river’s darker,” Bobby answered him 
briefly. 

“You’re hugging us pretty closely,” said 
Tim. 

Bobby drew back until he was several hun- 
150 


THE OTHER SIDE OF THE RIVER 


dred feet in the rear. Soon the Troop turned 
a bend in the road and left him alone. The 
gleam of the lantern under the trek cart was 
gone. The night closed around him, a tree 
murmured over his head, a bush at the road- 
side stirred. He quickened his steps, rounded 
the turn, and ran right into Andy and Tim. 
The Troop had halted for a spell of rest. 

“What’s your hurry?” Tim grinned. 

“I’ll show you if I get a chance to get 
away,” Bobby flared. 

“So that’s the game,” Tim said thoughtfully. 

Five minutes later they were again on their 
way. At midnight Don called a halt and gave 
the order to camp. The trek cart was hauled 
into a clearing carpeted with soft grass. One 
by one most of the scouts rolled up in their 
blankets and went to sleep under the stars, 
too tired for the restlessness that usually dis- 
turbs the first night in camp. Of all the forms 
Bobby’s was the only one that kept twisting 
and turning. 

151 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

Don drew Tim and Andy to one side. 
“Think he’ll make a break to get away?” he 
asked in a low voice. 

“He talked that way to me,” said Tim with 
conviction. 

“He wouldn’t try to get away in the dark- 
ness,” Don said thoughtfully. “If he makes 
a break, he’ll make it about daylight. If we 
all turn in he could get away without any 
trouble if we slept late. I’ll watch until 2 
o’clock, and then I’ll call you, Tim. You can 
call Andy at 4 o’clock.” 

“Suits me,” said Tim, and got his blanket; 
but Andy was in no mood for sleep. His 
blood was full of enchantment. He sat with 
Don, talking in the low voice that seems to 
come natural to those who are abroad when 
nature sleeps. 

“You’ll be sorry at 4 o’clock,” Don said at 
last. “It’s 1 o’clock now.” 

“Three hours’ sleep will be enough for me,” 
Andy said confidently. Nevertheless he 
152 


THE OTHER SIDE OF THE RIVER 


reached for his blanket. Bobby stirred un- 
easily. 

And now the whole world was still. Don 
sat facing the quiet forms. The hush of the 
country soothed his spirit and banished his 
care. The stars, brighter in the midnight sky, 
seemed to cast a benediction on the land. He 
relaxed and stared wistfully at the blanket that 
held Bobby Brown. He was sorry that cir- 
cumstances forced him to handle Bobby so 
harshly, but he was sure that he was doing 
what Mr. Wall would want him to do if the 
scoutmaster knew. 

At 2 o’clock he aroused the second watcher. 
Tim yawned and grumbled, but turned out. 
Don stretched off. The night had grown 
chill and the blanket felt good. One moment 
the stars winked and blinked at him in- 
scrutably; the next moment they were gone 
and he slept. 

He awakened suddenly, unaccountably, 
after the fashion of one who, even in his 
i53 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

dreams, had held to the consciousness that he 
must arise at a certain hour. The earth was 
bathed in the freshness of the dawn. In a 
nearby tree a bird serenaded the first rosy 
tints in the sky. He turned his head sleepily. 
Tim, breathing heavily, was lying beside him. 
He looked the other way. Andy Ford, his 
back against a tree and his head on his breast, 
was blissfully oblivious to camp, to trek cart, 
and to the reluctant scout he had been set to 
guard. 

The sleep was flung from Don’s eyes, and 
he sprang erect from his blanket. Bobby — 
Then he saw the boy, his eyes closed and his 
head pillowed on an out-thrown arm. Don’s 
heart, which had begun to thump, came back 
to its accustomed calm. 

At that moment Andy stirred and wakened. 
He saw Bobby lying as he had left him — and 
then he saw Don. He dropped his eyes. 

“Sleeping on post,” said Don. “Poor scout- 
ing, Andy.” 


i54 


THE OTHER SIDE OF THE RIVER 


Andy tried to defend himself. “I should 
have turned in instead of sitting up with you. 
I’ll know better next time.” 

“He might have gotten away — this time,” 
Don retorted. 

Andy said nothing. Don began to gather 
wood for the breakfast fire, and with a shame- 
faced air he began to help. The noise they 
made taking pots from the trek cart aroused 
Bobby. He sat up and watched them. 

“Better help,” said Don. 

Bobby remained where he was. 

One by one the sleepers stirred until the 
whole Troop was awake. The boys washed 
at a shallow brook and drew water for the 
coffee. Still Bobby sat with his blanket about 
his knees. 

“You’ll either lend a hand or you’ll go hun- 
gry,” Don said quietly. 

Bobby turned up his nose. “Not much, I 
will. There’s plenty of wild berries along 
the road.” Nevertheless, he presently threw 
155 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

the blanket on the trek cart and went off for 
wood. After a while he came back and 
dumped an armful on the ground. 

“Break some of those sticks smaller, will 
you, Bobby?” Don asked as though nothing 
had happened between them. 

Bobby did as he was told, partly because he 
was now sniffing the odors made by boiling 
coffee, frying bacon, and browning pancakes. 
For all that he was a reluctant member of the 
party, he ate as heartily as any, when the old 
scout cry of “Come and get it” came from the 
fire. By eight o’clock the blaze was dead, 
camp was clean, and the Troop was once more 
on the road. 

Two hours later they came to Mr. Joyce’s 
place. The farmer had sighted them as 
they had come over the brow of a hill, and 
was waiting for them at the road in the val- 
ley. 

“I’m powerful glad to see you,” he said 
earnestly. “How many in the party?” 

156 


THE OTHER SIDE OF THE RIVER 


Don stepped out to answer. “Fourteen,, 
sir.” 

“I can fix you up in the barn. You’ll be 
a mite crowded, but you’ll all fit.” 

“We’re going to live in our own tents, if 
you don’t mind. If you’ll show us a place 
whexe we can camp we’ll set them up at 
once.” 

The farmer looked doubtful. “You’ll lose 
a lot of valuable time if you plan to cook your 
own meals.” 

Don told him that the scouts would cook 
their own breakfast, but that they would eat 
dinner and supper at the farm-house. Mr. 
Joyce’s face cleared, and he led the way to a 
patch of high ground sheltered on two sides 
by tall trees. Two hundred feet away, at the 
foot of the embankment, was a gleam of sun- 
lit water. This was better than they had an- 
ticipated. 

“Swimming hour every afternoon after we 
finish in the fields,” cried Tim. “I’m glad I 
157 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

brought along my fishing line. Let’s get up 
those tents.” 

They laid out the camp, running the tents 
in the shape of an L. Ritter’s sharp eyes dis- 
covered a dead sapling among the trees. 
Hastily he dragged it out, dug a hole in front 
of the tents, and set it up, first having rigged 
it for a flag. Twenty minutes before the 
noon hour Chester Troop had established 
itself, and a flag was whipping above the 
tents in a breeze that came from across the 
river. 

The Troop ate dinner in the big farm-house 
kitchen. There were seventeen at the table — 
the scouts, Mr. Joyce and two farm-hands. 
Mrs. Joyce and a hired girl worked at the 
cook stove and carried platters of food to the 
men. It seemed to Don that it was impossible 
for seventeen people to eat so much, but in a 
very short time the platters were clear. Then 
came whacking pieces of home-made pie, and 
steaming cups of coffee. 

158 


THE OTHER SIDE OF THE RIVER 

“Help!” Tim Lally whispered; but he ate 
his portion. 

After dinner Mr. Joyce took the scouts to 
a field red ripe with tomatoes. While he 
showed them just what to pick, one of the 
hands brought empty crates. 

“I don’t believe in working boys too hard,” 
said Mr. Joyce. “You can quit at five o’clock. 
We have supper at six.” 

“Just time enough for a nice swim,” Tim 
cried. “Come on, fellows; go to it.” 

All afternoon they packed the tomatoes into 
the crates. As soon as one was filled, it was 
placed in the row, and another crate was 
brought to take its place. As they left the 
field at five o’clock, a farm wagon appeared 
and the hands began carrying the crates to the 
wagon. 

“Uncle Sam says we have to feed the 
world,” Don announced with a sense of pride. 
“I guess we’re doing our share.” 

Tim caught his eye and nodded toward 
159 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

Bobby. That boy was plodding along sul- 
lenly. 

“Soldiering all afternoon,” Tim whispered. 

Don had been too busy to pay attention to 
Bobby. However, Bobby’s sullenness left 
him when he plunged into the river. It re- 
turned when he came from the water and 
began to dress. 

“Say,” demanded one scout, “what’s eating 
you? This isn’t a funeral.” 

“Mind your own business,” Bobby said 
shortly. 

Supper was another tremendous meal. 
The scouts had planned a council fire, but to- 
night they were all too tired. Ritter brought 
out his bugle and blew retreat, and the flag 
came down. They sat around lazily and 
watched the river grow misty as the night 
spread its curtains. 

“We left the trek cart uncovered,” Andy 
said suddenly. 

“Cover it, Bobby,” said Don. This was a 
160 


THE OTHER SIDE OF THE RIVER 

punishment for his poor work of the after- 
noon. 

The Troop went early to bed. During the 
night Don awakened and heard a patter of 
rain on the canvas. The sound lulled him to 
fresh slumber; and when next he opened his 
eyes Ritter’s bugle was sounding reveille in 
his ears. 

“Into the river, fellows I” he shouted. “One 
quick dip and out.” 

They ran for the water through the wet 
grass. The rain was over. Don came from 
his tent and scrambled after them, only to be 
brought up short by Ritter, who had waited 
behind. 

“Bobby didn’t cover the trek wagon last 
night,” Ritter said. “The pancake flour’s 
about ruined, and the coffee and sugar are 
wet.” 

Don took no dip that morning. The flour 
was not as badly ruined as Ritter had sup- 
posed, and most of the sugar could be used. 

161 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

The scouts came running back from the river, 
shivering and eager for their clothing. 

“Bobby!” Don called. 

Bobby waited to get a towel. He answered 
the call rubbing his chest to a glow. 

“I wanted you to see this,” Don said. 

Bobby appeared to find the situation uncom- 
fortable. “You made me come on this trip,” 
he muttered. 

Don could have ordered any other boy in 
the party home with the certain knowledge 
that such action would be bitter punishment, 
but Bobby would have welcomed such a fate. 
Don’s mind worked feverishly to find some 
other way. Ah ! 

“You’ve got to make up for some of the 
stuff you’ve ruined, Bobby. No sugar for you 
this morning. You’ll take your coffee un- 
sweetened.” 

“I won’t stand for not getting my share,” 
Bobby announced hotly. “I’m doing my 
share of the work.” 


162 


THE OTHER SIDE OF THE RIVER 


“Are you?” Don’s eyes held his gaze. 
“Want me to call the fellows and show them 
this?” 

Bobby went back to his tent muttering to 
himself. The morning smell of coffee was 
mouth-watering when breakfast was served. 
He tasted his cup, made a face and pushed it 
aside. Later, on his way to the tomato field, 
he shot Don a black look. 

All day he picked and packed, but at five 
o’clock he was far behind every other scout 
in his score. A whisper ran through the 
Troop that he had not wanted to come and 
that he did not intend to work. 

“What’s the matter with you?” Wally 
Woods demanded. “You’re getting to be a 
funny sort of scout. You know what Amer- 
ica has asked us to do. You voted to go farm- 
ing. Why don’t you wake up and play the 
game?” 

“Why don’t you mind your own business?” 
Bobby asked icily. 

163 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

“Guess I will,” said Wally, and turned 
away. 

The Troop had a council fire that night, and 
the sparks leaped up to match the stars and 
the flames were reflected in the dark waters 
below. They sang songs around the fire, and 
Mrs. Joyce, the hired girl and the hands came 
down to watch them and to listen. 

“Believe me,” said Tim, as the Troop pre- 
pared for bed, “this beats any hike I ever was 
on.” 

At five-thirty o’clock next morning the 
bugle summoned them for another day. Most 
of the scouts carried their clothing with them 
so that they could dress on the shore as soon 
as they left the water. Just as the cooks 
started on breakfast Bobby complained that 
he had lost his knife and went back to the 
river bank to look for it. 

The minutes passed, and breakfast was at 
last ready — but Bobby had not returned to 
camp. Don strolled toward the river. Half- 
164 


THE OTHER SIDE OF THE RIVER 


way down the hill he stopped. The Troop 
had taken its dip directly beneath the camp, 
but Bobby, walking rapidly, was coming back 
from a point down the stream. When he saw 
Don he looked confused. 

“Find your knife?” Don asked. 

“Yes, I found it.” 

“Nobody was swimming down there.” 

“I — I just walked down that way,” Bobby 
stammered. He ate his breakfast this morn- 
ing as though he enjoyed it. In some way he 
seemed to have changed. On the way to the 
tomato field for the third day’s work, he be- 
gan to whistle happily. 

“I knew he’d come around,” said Andy. 

That day Bobby worked with a willing 
zeal. As the afternoon waned, the Troop 
reached the last rows of tomato plants. 
Bobby, in his row, worked feverishly. He 
was the first boy to finish. Turning from his 
crate he walked with vast indifference back 
toward the camp. 

165 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

Some time later Don and Tim followed in 
his steps. As they came near the tents they 
saw him standing on the high ground and 
facing the river. His arms were moving. 

“Semaphore,” Tim said in a startled voice. 

Don spelled the letters. “O-M-O-R- 
R-O-W. He’s sending the word ‘to-morrow.’ 
What’s he going to do to-morrow? Who’s 
he signaling to?” 

“Maybe he’s only practicing,” said Tim. 

That was possible. At any rate Bobby sig- 
naled no more; and when Don led the way 
into camp he had disappeared into his tent 
to prepare for his swim. Don walked to the 
edge of the hill and surveyed the river. 
Nothing was to be seen on the calm surface of 
the stream. 

But now Tim seemed to have something on 
his mind. When supper was over that night 
he tugged at Don’s sleeve as the scouts left 
the kitchen, and whispered “Wait!” Pres- 
ently they were alone with Mr. Joyce. 

1 66 


THE OTHER SIDE OF THE RIVER 


“I wonder,” said Tim, “if you have a field 
glass you could lend me.” 

“Certainly,” said Mr. Joyce, and brought 
the glass from another room. Tim slipped it 
into a pocket of his coat. 

“What’s that for?” Don asked. 

“We’ll do a little exploring to-morrow 
morning before the camp is awake,” Tim said, 
“and see what we find. Maybe we won’t find 
anything. Let’s turn in early.” 

It seemed to Don that he could not have 
been asleep more than an hour when Tim 
awakened him. The day had dawned, but 
there was as yet no sound from the farm-house 
or from the barn. Stealthily he followed Tim 
from the camp, and down the hill to the river. 

Tim brought forth the glass and trained it 
on the other shore. Evidently he found noth- 
ing there for he led the way down stream a 
quarter of a mile. Again he brought the 
glass to his eye. It moved, now up, now 
down, and suddenly paused and held still. 

167 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

“Found something?” Don asked breath- 
lessly. 

“Over there,” said Tim, “by that grove of 
birch.” 

Don took the glass. At first the focus was 
cloudy; then it cleared as he turned the screw. 
A patch of the opposite shore came very, very 
close. He saw a row-boat drawn high out of 
the water, and a fire burning with scarcely a 
trace of smoke. Two boys bent over the blaze 
— Joe and Pete Rivers. 

“What did Bobby mean when he signaled 
‘to-morrow’?” Tim asked in Don’s ear. 


CHAPTER X 

AN UNEXPECTED DASH 

I T was a full minute before Don took the 
glass from his eye. What a witless idiot 
he had been! In that minute he understood 
why Bobby had been so long looking for his 
knife yesterday morning, why he had gone 
down the stream, and why he had suddenly 
become cheerful. He had probably caught 
sight of the twins as he searched for the knife, 
and had communicated with them before com- 
ing back to camp. He could not risk talking 
to them near the tents, and had evidently run 
down stream so that they would not be ob- 
served. 

“I got thinking of that ‘to-morrow’ of his,” 
Tim explained, “and about our first fire. Joe 
and Pete had planned to go to a river, and I 
thought that if this were the river they could 
169 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

not help but see our blaze. Now that they’re 
here, what’s going to happen?” 

Don shook his head. If any mischief were 
afoot it would probably announce itself be- 
fore night. 

“At that he might have been only prac- 
ticing,” Tim said suddenly. “Joe and Pete 
were never scouts. They can’t read sema- 
phore.” 

“They taught Bobby knots,” Don said im- 
patiently. “He’s probably taught them both 
Morse and semaphore.” 

From the camp came the high, clear note 
of a bugle. 

“We had better get back,” said Tim. 
“We’ll have a better chance to watch Bobby 
if he thinks we suspect nothing.” 

They hurried up the shore, and were at the 
swimming place when the scouts came scram- 
bling down the slope. Tim cried “Beat you 
to it, fellows,” and plunged into the water. 
It was well done. Not a scout suspected that 
170 


AN UNEXPECTED DASH 


he had been exploring that river with a glass 
for half an hour. 

The Bobby of surly answers and sullen face 
was gone. He threshed about the water in 
joyous abandon. His voice rang with the 
sheer exultation of animal spirits. When he 
came out, dripping, he kicked up his heels 
like a colt released to pasture after days of 
confinement in a stall. 

“Wish I knew what he intends doing,” Don 
muttered uneasily. 

As soon as breakfast was over and camp 
had been policed, Mr. Joyce led the way to a 
new field. This time it was corn that engaged 
their attention. Here they worked in squads, 
several scouts gathering the ears and one scout 
carrying them by armfuls to central points 
where the wagons would pick them up. It 
was easier work by a long shot than gather- 
ing tomatoes. There was not so much bend- 
ing. 

Bobby was the gayest of the gay. He was 
171 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

a carrier, and the contagion of his high spirits 
spread through his squad. 

“What was the matter with you?” Wally 
Woods asked. “You’ve been a different fel- 
low to-day and yesterday.” 

“Oh, my ship has come in,” Bobby said, and 
laughed. Don came along apparently to see 
how the work was progressing. Bobby 
quickly gathered an armful of corn and went 
with it toward the deposit point. 

“You fellows are far ahead of the other 
squads,” Don told the group. 

“Better give the credit to Bobby,” Wally 
said seriously. “He’s got everybody on the 
go. I was just telling him what a changed 
fellow he is.” 

“What did he say?” 

“He said his ship had come in.” 

“I guess it has,” Don said thoughtfully, and 
turned toward the next squad. 

He had intended to watch Bobby all that 
day. However, the thought came to him that 
172 


AN UNEXPECTED DASH 


while the work was on, the trouble-maker was 
chained to his task. He had to carry for a 
busy group of harvesters, and he could not be 
absent long without arousing a cry of protest, 
for the picked corn would begin to choke the 
row. Whatever he planned to do would be 
done after the work was over — probably to- 
night. 

At dinner Bobby had an amazin'g appetite, 
and the farm-hands, no mean eaters them- 
selves, looked at him in wonderment. After 
dinner he walked out with Wally Woods, and 
held that scout in conversation outside the 
kitchen. 

“You can take it,” Wally said, “but don’t 
lose it.” 

That was the only part of the dialogue Don 
heard. He intended to ask Wally about it 
as soon as they all got back to the field. But 
as they walked toward their work, there was 
a scream from the kitchen. They had left 
the hired girl cutting meat for a supper hash. 

173 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

Now she came running out wringing a blood- 
dripping hand. 

“Get the kit, Tim,” Don called. 

Tim dashed toward the camp. When he 
returned the girl, white-faced, was sitting on 
the kitchen steps, and Mrs. Joyce was flutter- 
ing about her in excitement. Don opened the 
first-aid kit, cleaned around the wound, and 
poured in some iodine. 

The girl cried aloud and tried to jump up. 
Mrs. Joyce quieted her, and after a moment, 
as the pain eased, she sat still. Deftly Don 
ran the end of a bandage roll about the in- 
jured hand. Often in his second-class days, 
he had done the hand bandage with some 
scout sitting as a willing victim and with his 
own eyes glued to a page of the Handbook. 
Now, for the first time, he dressed a real 
wound. 

“I guess you’ll be all right,” he said when 
he had finished. 

The girl gave him a flustered nod of thanks. 
i74 


AN UNEXPECTED DASH 


Mrs. Joyce was frankly amazed at his skill. 
He had completely forgotten that there was a 
question he wanted to ask Wally Woods. 

At five o’clock, when the Troop quit, banks 
of sullen clouds were piling up in the north- 
west. The day had turned breathlessly hu- 
mid. 

“We had better hurry our swim,” Tim ad- 
vised wisely. 

“I’ll be overboard in five minutes,” said 
Ritter. 

No one noticed the boy who went first to 
Wally’s tent and then to his own — and who 
did not come out. Had the flap been lifted, 
he would have been found on his knees wrap- 
pining his few belongings in a piece of 
canvas. The bundle made, he tied it 
securely and looked out from the tent cau- 
tiously. 

The camp was deserted. Instead of going 
straight down the hill to where the others were 
swimming, he made off on an angle. Coming 
175 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

to the end of the hill, he concealed himself 
behind a bowlder and waited until no face was 
turned in his direction. Then he darted for 
the water. 

Suddenly, back at the swimming place, Don 
missed a face and swam ashore. “Where’s 
Bobby?” he called. 

No one knew. 

“Tim! He’s gone. He—” 

“There he is,” Ritter shouted. 

Downstream, Bobby was swimming lei- 
surely toward the middle of the river. 

“He’s getting pretty far out,” Wally ob- 
served. “He ought to get the come back sig- 
nal. He isn’t a strong swimmer.” 

“Give it,” Don ordered. 

Wally whistled shrilly, once, twice, three 
times. Bobby, instead of turning about, be- 
gan to swim faster. 

“What’s that on his back?” somebody asked. 
“Looks as though he had something tied 
there.” 


176 


AN UNEXPECTED DASH 


“It’s the canvas I use over my bed,” Wally 
cried angrily. “He asked me could he bor- 
row it to cut out one for himself. What’s he 
got wrapped up in it?” 

Don did not have to speculate. He knew. 
He told himself in sick dismay that he had 
brought this on himself by not maintaining 
a vigilant watch. He had had ample warn- 
ing. 

A dripping arm lifted itself from the wa- 
ter and waved frantically. “Want me to start 
after him?” Tim demanded. 

Don shook his head. “He’s got too big a 
lead.” 

“Say,” Wally said uneasily, “he’s past the 
center of the river. It looks as though he’s 
swimming straight for the other — What’s 
that?” 

The “that” was a row-boat. It shot from 
a place on the far shore and made straight 
for the swimming boy. Nearing him, it 
swung about and waited, and he caught the 
177 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

6tern, clung there a moment, and then climbed 
aboard. The rowers bent to their oars and 
the boat went swiftly down the stream. 

“Joe and Pete Rivers,” said Ritter in an 
awed voice. “Holy mackeral!” 


CHAPTER XI 


THE CAMP OF THE TWINS 

F OR about a mile the boat went steadily 
down stream. The storm clouds were 
now more menacing, and the stillness of the 
evening was punctuated by sullen growls of 
thunder. Bobby, recovering his breath, sat 
in the stern and let his hands trail idly in the 
water. The day was warm, and he felt no 
chill. Besides, it was good to sit there after 
the tremendous exertion of his wild swim and 
watch how deftly Joe and Pete dipped the 
oars and brought them out with scarcely a 
ripple. 

Presently the boat turned its nose in toward 
the bank, and Joe pulled in his oars and turned 
about and faced the passenger. His face wore 
a broad grin. Bobby gave a pleased chuckle. 
179 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

“I guess them scout fellows ain’t feelin’ so 
nifty just now,” Joe said genially. “We 
aimed for t’ get you out, Bobby, and I guess 
we done it.” 

“I was afraid I wouldn’t get away,” Bobby 
confessed. “Don thought that something was 
up. I could see he was watching me. I took 
a desperate chance signaling from the camp.” 

“Oh, Don!” Joe snapped his fingers. 
“He ain’t so much. I knowed we’d fool him.” 

“Quit your gabbin’,” Pete cried, “an’ 
watch the boat. I ain’t aimin’ to run on no 
mud flat.” 

Joe watched the shore and cried directions. 
The speed of the boat slowed down to a crawl. 
Gently it nosed along. It seemed to Bobby 
that they were looking for a place to run to 
land; but suddenly Joe called “Port, Pete; 
port,” and the boat swung to one side and 
darted forward. What looked to be a solid 
wall of brush parted gently as they reached it. 
They went through and found themselves in 
180 


THE CAMP OF THE TWINS 


a narrow inlet that was completely shut out 
from the river. 

“I guess we know how to find bunks,” said 
Joe. 

This time Pete grinned. “They ain’t no 
scout fellows goin’ t’ tell us t’ get out o’ here. 
This is ourn.” 

The inlet was too narrow to permit row- 
ing. Joe knelt beside Bobby, ran an oar over 
the stern and began to scull. For perhaps 
a hundred yards they cruised in this fashion, 
and then the inlet ended. Pete sprang ashore 
and pulled the boat up to where high tide 
would not reach it. 

The camp stood not twenty feet away. 
Two stout branches had been thrust into the 
ground, another branch had been lashed hori- 
zontally as a ridge pole, and over this a strip 
of canvas had been hung to make a tent. It 
was low, and not any too wide; and Bobby 
wondered how three boys could possibly sleep 
under it. 

1 8 1 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

The tent stood in a cleared space, but all 
around it were great trees. Bobby was glad 
to dress. The sun had gone down and in 
here among the trees the air was chill. He 
donned pants, shirt and sneakers, and stood 
there with his other belongings — scout uni- 
form, shoes, haversack and blanket. 

“Where will I put these?” he asked. 

“Chuck ’em in the tent,” said Joe. 

Bobby hesitated. Some of the twins’ cloth- 
ing was scattered under the canvas, and a 
dirty, rumpled blanket was piled at one side. 

“Well,” Joe demanded, “ain’t it good 
enough for you? I guess they wasn’t no mar- 
ble floors over at the scout camp.” 

Bobby threw in his things. The scout 
camp, at least, had had order and neatness. 
Pete, swinging a pail, took him farther in 
among the trees and showed him where to 
get water. When they came back Joe was 
cleaning fish for supper. He scaled them, 
opened them up the middle and cast the in- 
182 


THE CAMP OF THE TWINS 


sides upon the ground. A swarm of flies set- 
tled to the feast. 

Bobby had not noticed the flies; now as he 
looked they seemed to be everywhere. A can 
of molasses had not been tightly closed, and 
the cover was black with the buzzing pests. 
Pete rinsed a pot and threw the water upon 
the ground. Next he opened a tin of beans 
and dumped the beans in the pot. One fly, 
two, three, pounced upon the food. 

“You ought not to throw things around like 
that,” Bobby protested. 

“No?” Joe looked at him in surprise. 
“What’s the harm?” 

“It draws flies. They’re into everything.” 

“Well, what o’ it? Flies don’t hurt nothin’, 
do they?” 

“They’re filthy,” said Bobby, and shooed 
them from the beans. “They spread disease.” 

Joe looked at Pete in amazement. Sud- 
denly the twins roared with laughter. 

“Ain’t that a hot one?” Joe cried. “Here’s 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

me and you been livin’ around flies all our 
lives, Pete, and we’s been diseased an’ didn’t 
know it. I ain’t never seed any diseased flies, 
has you, Pete?” 

Pete shook his head. “They’s always pretty 
danged lively,” he grinned. 

“Then how can they give anybody disease?” 
Joe demanded triumphantly. “If they ain’t 
got nothing how can you ketch it from them.” 

Bobby told how flies walked through all 
kinds of filth and carried it with them to any- 
thing that they touched. He mentioned 
germs. 

“What’s germs?” asked Joe. 

Bobby tried to explain, but made sorry 
work of it. Joe moved one hand quickly, 
caught a fly, and held it out. 

“Here, show me one o’ them germs.” 

“You can’t see them,” Bobby said weakly. 

At that the twins sent forth another roar of 
laughter. Joe, shaking with merriment, went 
on cleaning the fish. 


184 


THE CAMP OF THE TWINS 


“Scout lies,” Pete said soberly. “That’s all 
it is. How can somethin’ be if you can’t see 
it?” 

Bobby made a last defense. “You can see 
them under a microscope.” 

“Did you ever see any?” 

“N-no.” 

“Scout lies,” Pete said again. “Remember 
the dog we owned once, Joe, that used t’ ketch 
flies an’ eat ’em? He didn’t get no bad dis- 
ease.” 

Bobby had no great desire for supper. He 
ate some of the fish and a slight helping of 
beans from the bottom of the pot. He wanted 
coffee — but when Joe brought out an opened 
condensed milk can with a dead fly in the 
thick mixture, he decided to drink his coffee 
black. 

“He’s feared o’ a dead fly,” Joe cried. 
“Ain’t that a hot one?” 

After supper Joe and Pete lay contentedly 
on their backs and began to smoke. The 
185 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

plates, the pot, the frying pan, were left out in 
the open. 

“Aren’t you going to wash up?” Bobby 
asked. 

“Lots o’ time,” said Joe. “We don’t eat 
again ’til to-morrow. What’s the rush? We 
corned up here for a good time.” 

Bobby went down to the water with his eat- 
ing kit, and made it clean. The twins 
watched him with vast amusement. When 
the job was done he came back to his friends — 
but the glamour had faded from his escape. 
The morrow painted no rosy promise of ad- 
venture. 

“How has the fishing gone?” he asked after 
a silence. 

“We ain’t doin’ none,” said Pete. 

Bobby sat upright. He had money invested 
in this business. “You said we’d get fish up 
here.” 

“We got a lot the first day,” Pete explained. 
“We can’t go for t’ take fish back t’ Chester 
18 6 


THE CAMP OF THE TWINS 


every day, and they ain’t no way t’ keep them 
fresh. We ain’t got no ice. We didn’t think 
o’ that.” 

Bobby grew gloomier. “How about my 
money?” he asked. 

“Squealer!” said Joe, and spat. “How 
about ourn?” 

The twins smoked in silence. Bobby sat 
there and played idly with pebbles that lay at 
his feet. There was no merry camp-fire, no 
singing, no rollicking good time. Pete 
knocked the ashes from his pipe and said it 
was time for bed. 

Bobby crept under the spread of canvas. 
The low-hung tent was hot, and the three boys 
filled every inch of it. Joe and Pete speedily 
dropped off to sleep, but Bobby lay awake. 
Joe’s elbow was in his ribs, and try as he 
would he could not relieve the pressure. It 
seemed years ago that he had thrilled with 
excitement at the thought of a care-free exist- 
ence with the twins. As a matter of fact the 
187 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

thrill had been with him all that day. Now 
— now it was gone. 

Since early afternoon the threat of storm 
had been constant. The heavens still growled 
ominously. Faint lightning flashes lit the 
earth with feeble flutterings. Bobby sighed. 
By degrees, even in spite of the elbow in his 
ribs, his weary body relaxed, and he slept. 

He awoke from a frantic dream of strug- 
gling under water to escape from boys who 
grappled him and tried to hold him under. 
And then it ceased to be a dream. He was 
struggling, and he was wet. Something sti- 
fling was over him and smothering him. He 
made a frightened, desperate effort to be free. 

“Can’t you keep still?” Joe yelled. “We’s 
tryin’ to get out.” 

“The tent’s blowed down,” gasped Pete. 

Bobby understood. The storm had broken. 
Rain was lashing about his legs, and the 
ground was drenched with running water. 
A minute later he crawled from under the 
1 88 


THE CAMP OF THE TWINS 

wreckage out into as wild a night as he had 
ever known. The tree tops were bent with 
the force of the wind. The lightning flashes 
showed Joe and Pete looking like drowned 
rats. 

“We got to beat it up into the woods,” Pete 
cried. He and Joe ran toward the timber. 
Bobby waited to gather his clothing. It was 
saturated, but he put it under his arms and 
followed the twins. 

In the part of the woods where the trees 
were thickest they came to a halt, panting. 
Here only a little of the rain came through. 
They sat under the trees, and waited miser- 
ably for the end of the deluge. With the 
rain the night had turned cold, and now they 
began to shiver. 

“Might as well move around,” said Pete, 
“an’ keep warm.” He took the situation 
calmly, and began to walk up and down and 
slap his arms across his chest. Bobby was 
soon glad to follow his example. He thought 
189 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

of the scouts, probably safe and dry in their 
tents across the river, and he bit his lips and 
blinked his eyes. 

The hours dragged along. After a long, 
long wait, the rain lessened and then stopped. 
The thunder grew faint in the distance. The 
wind died down. The only sound was the 
drip, drip, drip of water from the leaves. 
Joe, who had been morosely silent all during 
the night, roused himself. 

“Feel’s like mornin’,” he said. “Let’s get 
out in the open an’ look around.” 

“I haven’t a dry stitch,” Bobby gulped. 

“Oh, shut up!” Joe growled. “You ain’t 
the only one.” 

They found the open space where the camp 
had been pitched. In the east the dawn had 
broken. As the light grew stronger they sur- 
veyed what was left of their belongings. The 
tent was lying in a patch of mud, and the blan- 
kets were a tumbled, soggy heap. The can of 
condensed milk was gone. The molasses can 
190 


THE CAMP OF THE TWINS 


was lying on its side and most of the sticky 
fluid had run out. The cooking utensils were 
full of water. 

Joe shivered. “Somebody rustle up some 
dry wood,” he said crossly. “I want a drink 
o’ coffee.” 

“Coffee’s gone, too,” said Pete. A moment 
later they found the grounds spread out in the 
mud. Joe scooped them up, dirt and all. 

“Get the wood,” he said. “We’ll dry this 
stuff by the fire an’ sift out the dirt.” 

Bobby, moving without spirit, found some 
dry branches. Soon there was a sputtering 
fire. While Pete tried to heat water, Joe pa- 
tiently watched the dirt cake in his pot as the 
heat evaporated the rain. Sifting out the 
dirt, however, was a difficult matter. 

“Oh, damn,” Joe exploded suddenly; “a lit- 
tle dirt ain’t goin’ to kill nobody.” He 
dumped a handful of the grounds into the 
water that Pete had succeeded in bringing to 
a boil. 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

“Got to drink it without sugar and milk,” 
said Pete. 

The mixture looked like no coffee Bobby 
had ever seen. He tried to tell himself that 
the boiling had sterilized everything, but one 
mouthful of the hot liquid was enough. He 
walked to one side; and when the twins were 
not looking he cast his portion away. But 
the drink seemed to put new life into his com- 
panions. 

“Let’s go out and get us some fish for break- 
fast,” Joe proposed. 

They pulled the boat ashore, turned it up- 
side down and emptied it of rain water. In 
one respect the twins had been right: the river 
at this point was alive with fish. Twenty 
minutes later they had enough for a meal. 
They came ashore, and Bobby went for more 
wood. The plague of flies had returned to 
feast on the refuse of the camp. 

Bobby ate his fish to the last morsel. He 
felt as though his insides were hollow. The 
192 


THE CAMP OF THE TWINS 


twins spread out blankets, tent canvas and 
clothing to dry in the sun. Beyond that they 
did nothing to set the camp to rights. Their 
tobacco, incased in a tin container, was dry. 
They got out their pipes and went back under 
the trees. 

“Can’t do nothin’ ’til the sun dries things 
out,” said Pete. “Might as well rest.” 

The look on Bobby’s face was far from 
happy. In a dim way he began to see that it 
was simply contrariness that had got him into 
this mess. The others had ordered him to cut 
away from Joe and Pete, they had criticized 
his friendships, they had aroused his hostility 
— and he just wouldn’t cut away. Of course^ 
he had really wanted to go camping and fish- 
ing with the twins. The picture they had 
painted had been alluring. He was used to 
camping, and liked it. But he hadn’t 
dreamed that the twins’ camp would be any- 
thing like this. Its carelessness, its lack of 
system, its dirt, ran contrary to everything that 
i93 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

Mr. Wall had taught him before the scout- 
master had joined the army. 

Of course, he could go back to the Troop. 
He stared out at where the river showed blue 
and sun-kissed through the trees. No; he 
couldn’t, either. If he went back he would 
have to go and confess his mistake, go with 
hanging head and with muttered apologies. 
What he called his pride balked at such an 
inglorious end to his adventure. He — he’d 
stick it out. But nobody, he vowed, grimly, 
would ever again ensnare him in a fix like 
this. 

Joe took his pipe from his mouth and 
pointed toward the river. “Visitors,” he said. 
“They must have borried a boat from some- 
body.” 

Bobby, aroused from his meditations, 
looked out at the stream. Don and Tim 
Lally, in a flat-bottomed skiff, were rowing 
slowly and searching the shore. 

“Let’s go on down,” Joe said humorously, 
194 


THE CAMP OF THE TWINS 


“and give ’em the laugh.” Bobby sat where 
he was. 

“Cornin’?” Pete asked. 

Bobby shook his head. 

“You ain’t scared, is you?” Joe demanded. 
“We’s on our own side o’ the river now. Let’s 
go down.” 

But Bobby remained seated. The twins 
sauntered through the trees toward the river 
bank and presently hailed the boat. Bobby 
stood up and walked deeper into the timber. 
He didn’t have the heart to face his former 
companions. A long time afterwards he 
heard Don’s voice : 

“Bob-by! Bob-by!” 

His heart began to beat faster, but he made 
no answer. By and by he came back. Joe 
and Pete were smoking again, and the boat 
was gone. 

“Why didn’t you come out?” Joe grinned. 
“Don Strong wanted for t’ talk to you.” 

“What did he say?” Bobby asked. 
i95 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

“He said it wasn’t too late for you t’ come 
back with the scout fellows. We told him 
somethin’, didn’t we, Pete? We told him you 
was sayin’ you was sorry you hadn’t come over 
sooner.” 

Bobby sighed and walked toward the camp 
to see if his clothing was dry. 


CHAPTER XII 


THE RAID 

L ATE that afternoon Pete and Joe rowed 
i away to a village down the river to get 
some bacon, coffee, sugar, salt, milk and flour. 
While they were gone, Bobby hunted for a 
tree branch heavily studded with short, thick 
stems, found one, and proceeded to laboriously 
rake the camp. At the end of an hour he 
had wrought some -semblance of order. The 
ground was clear, the pots and pans were put 
away where the flies could not reach them, 
and the refuse he had gathered was burning 
in a fire. 

He went to the river and walked along the 
bank until he came in sight of the camp of 
Chester Troop. The tents showed dimly, but 
the flag, whipping in the breeze, was in plain 
sight. He sat on a fallen stump, and watched 
197 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

until, with shouts and cheers, the scouts came 
charging down the embankment for their 
daily swim. Then he went back to his own 
camp. 

Joe and Pete had returned and were cook- 
ing supper. It was fish again — fish, and 
bread, and coffee, and molasses. The fish 
heads were lying on the freshly raked ground. 
Bobby looked at them and frowned. 

“Mary Ann ain’t stuck on our way o’ doin’ 
things,” Joe grinned. 

Bobby stalked off in search of wood. 

This time, when he returned, the meal was 
ready. But now he was growing tired of 
fish, fish, fish. Perhaps Joe and Pete were 
growing tired of it, too, for near the end of 
the meal Pete inquired what “those scout fel- 
lows” had to eat. 

“Fruit,” said Bobby, “and vegetables, and 
lemonade and milk.” 

“What kind o’ veg’ tables?” Pete was in- 
terested. 


198 


THE RAID 

“Corn, tomatoes, potatoes, beans — oh, every 
kind.” 

“Where do they get ’em?” 

“From Mr. Joyce.” 

“Who’s Mr. Joyce?” 

“He owns the farm where we were work- 
ing.” 

Pete brought out his pipe and filled it 
slowly. “I’d like for t’ have things like that 
t’ eat.” 

“Let’s go get some to-night,” Joe said 
eagerly. 

“Get some?” Bobby looked at him suspi- 
ciously. “How?” 

“Take ’em,” Joe said impatiently. “How 
do you think?” 

“That’s stealing,” Bobby cried. 

“Will you listen to the idjit,” Joe said 
scornfully. He began to jeer and mock, and 
Pete took part in the demonstration. Bobby 
stood his ground. Finding that derision pro- 
duced no results, the twins began to argue. 

199 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

“What we take won’t be missed,” said Joe. 
“Look how much stuff spoils.” 

“And look how much the bugs eats,” said 
Pete. 

“It’s stealing,” Bobby retorted. “It doesn’t 
belong to you. And you’re forgetting what 
you told Don in the cabin the day Joe took 
Tim Lally’s haversack,” he ended trium- 
phantly. 

“What did I tell him?” 

“You said that you or Joe had never stolen 
anything.” 

“That’s right,” Pete admitted uneasily. 
“But just a couple o’ tomaters from a 
patch — ” 

“They’re not yours, Pete.” 

“Look a here,” cried Joe; “you ain’t 
done nothin’ but find fault since you corned 
here.” 

“Shut up!” Pete said shortly. He began to 
pace back and forth turning the problem in 
his mind. “Bobby’s right,” he said at last. 


200 


THE RAID 


“We’ll go over an’ take what we want, but 
we’ll leave money for it.” 

“Why can’t you go over in the daytime,” 
Bobby asked, “and buy what you want?” 

“And have those scout fellows rush us? 
I guess not. We’ll take what we wants and 
leave four bits. I guess that’s square.” 

That did seem to be all right. 

“Well,” said Joe, “are you cornin’ along or 
are you goin’ t’ stay back an’ snoop around 
camp?” 

Bobby said that he’d go along. 

At nine o’clock that night the row-boat 
slipped out of the inlet and turned down- 
stream. Instead of using the oars in the locks, 
the twins paddled. Noiselessly they went 
along with the current. After a time they 
came abreast of the camp of Chester Troop. 
The scouts were singing, the tree tops on the 
bluff were pinkly illuminated by the light of 
the council fire, and now and then a shower of 
sparks rose toward the dark heavens. The 
201 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

twins brought the boat in close to the opposite 
shore. 

“Might as well wait until they go to sleep,” 
said Pete. He brought forth the ever-ready 
pipe, and bent low in the boat so that the re- 
flection of his match would not show. As he 
slouched in his seat and smoked, the pipe bowl 
glowed faintly as he drew upon it. 

The river was dark and mysterious. The 
current lapped gently against the boat, and 
murmured in small splashes against the shore. 
Bobby began to grow restless, and to feel sorry 
that he had embarked upon the mission. Of 
course, they were going to pay for what they 
took, but this thing of sneaking out like thieves 
in the night — 

“Fire’s goin’ down,” said Pete. “Maybe 
they’s gettin’ ready t’ turn in.” He knocked 
the ashes from his pipe. 

But it was another half hour before the 
twins paddled the boat noiselessly across the 
silent stream. Bobby said that the farm house 


202 


THE RAID 


and the fields were above the camp, and they 
beached the boat a hundred yards from the 
swimming place. They feared to drag it part 
way from the water — it might be heard — so 
Joe rolled up his trousers and let himself over- 
board and partly lifted the stern and helped 
carry it. From under the bow seat Pete took 
a bag. 

“You know this here place, Bobby,” he 
whispered. “You make trail. Don’t go 
makin’ no noise.” 

It seemed to Bobby, as he cautiously led 
the way, that the beating of his heart was 
loud enough to awake the countryside. The 
slightest noise was enough to bring them all 
to a halt, their bodies tense, their ears strained. 
Crawling on all fours they slipped safely past 
the camp. Once they heard two scouts 
speaking, and stood like statues until the talk- 
ing stopped. They came to a rail fence that 
bounded one side of the corn field, and care- 
fully helped each other over. 

203 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

“Work fast,” Pete whispered, “and don’t 
go for t’ make no noise. Hurry, now.” 

Joe broke off an ear. In the stillness the 
crack of the stem seemed as loud as a pistol 
shot. 

“Want to get us took?” Pete demanded 
fiercely. “Use your knife, you idjit. Ain’t 
you get no sense?” 

Bobby took out his own knife, reached for 
an ear, but could not cut it. They were pay- 
ing, but — His soul was sick of the whole 
business. Perhaps it wasn’t stealing, but it 
looked like it, and his own self-respect was 
gone. 

“What’s the matter with you, Bobby, you 
ain’t gettin’ no corn?” Pete hissed. 

“I guess we’s got enough,” said Joe. 
“Where’s them tomaters?” 

Again Bobby led the way, this time cau- 
tiously, for they were drawing near to the farm 
house. Picking the tomatoes was easy work, 
and soon they had enough. Pete took fifty 
204 


THE RAID 


cents from his pocket, wrapped it in paper 
and laid it between two rows. 

“Say,” said Joe, “ain’t they got no melon 
patch? I’d like for t’ sink my teeth into a 
melon when we gets back t’ camp.” 

Bobby said there was a little melon patch 
nearer the house. 

“Make trail, then. We can take the money 
up and chuck it near the door. Maybe no- 
body would ever find the money out here.” 

Bobby drew back in dismay. He was sure 
that they had fifty cents’ worth of vegetables 
already, and he wanted to get away. He 
wanted to be safely back in the boat. He 
wanted to be rid of the feeling that he was 
doing a sneaking, skulking, dishonorable act. 

“Ain’t we payin’?” cried Joe. Uncon- 
sciously his voice had risen. In the stillness 
it carried far. A moment later the door of 
the house opened and a shaft of light shot out 
into the darkness. 

“I thought I heard somebody speaking,” 
205 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

Mr. Joyce said. His wife stood beside him 
in the doorway. 

“There can’t be anything wrong at the 
camp,” she argued. “Everything’s dark over 
there.” 

Bobby’s breath was coming in gasps. He 
could feel Pete’s hand trembling on his arm. 

“Anybody out there?” Mr. Joyce called. 

Silence. 

And then a dog came out of the house, 
stretched, and disappeared into the darkness. 

“I want t’ get out o’ here,” Joe whispered 
in alarm. “That there dog — ” 

The animal seemed to come rushing upon 
them out of the night. They saw its eyes 
gleaming, they heard its bark. Joe gave a 
shrill cry of fright. 

“Thieves!” shouted Mr. Joyce. His voice 
became a roar. “Hi, there, scouts. Farm 
thieves. Stop them, stop them!” 

A confused, answering cry came from the 
camp. 


206 


THE RAID 

The three boys rushed headlong for safety. 
One moment Bobby had Pete on his left and 
Joe on his right. The next moment they were 
gone, and he could hear them crashing across 
the cultivated fields. He was alone. 

Lights had appeared in the scout camp, and 
were swinging here and there like fire-flies. 
With a sudden sinking of the heart he realized 
that the boys of Chester Troop had got be- 
tween him and the river. Behind him Mr. 
Joyce had been joined by the farm hands. 
He was in a trap. 

There was only one thing to do — make a 
wild run for it and trust to luck. He swung 
to the left, and plunged forward. A light 
bobbed ahead in his path. He swung to the 
right. There was another light. Somebody 
was coming toward him from the rear. All 
at once he lost his head completely and ran 
straight ahead. 

“There goes one of them,” cried a voice. 
“Get him.” 


207 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

A hand clutched at him. He beat it down. 
Something tripped him. He staggered on. 
Some one caught him from behind, held him, 
bore him down. 

“I’ve got him,” Tim Lally panted. 

Then a crowd was around him. A light 
was flashed in his face. 

“Bobby!” cried Ritter. “Holy mackeral!” 

“Bobby!” said Don; and at the way Don 
said it, the boy’s head sank slowly to his breast. 
Tim released him and he stood up surrounded 
by the amazed and stunned members of his 
Troop. 

There was a bustle, a flash of more lanterns, 
voices, and Mr. Joyce and one of the farm 
hands emerged from the corn-field and bore 
down upon the group. 

“Got one of them, haven’t you?” the farmer 
cried. 

“This fellow’s one of our scouts,” said Don. 

“Shucks!” said Mr. Joyce in a tone of dis- 
appointment. “Caught one of your own 
208 


THE RAID 


crowd by mistake, eh? I guess they got past 
us. Well, they’re making for the river. 
Maybe we can head them.” 

He hurried off through the darkness, fol- 
lowed by the farm-hand. Somewhere to the 
left the dog was barking. Suddenly every 
scout heard the sound of oars being furiously 
rattled in their locks. 

“They got away,” said Ritter. 

There was a moment or two of silence. 
Bobby’s shoulders rose and fell in a convulsive 
sigh. Don touched him on the arm. 

“You can go and join your friends now,” 
he said coldly. 

“I — I don’t want to,” Bobby answered 
shakily. His voice, all at once, broke ut- 
terly. “I — I wanted to come back before I 
had been there an hour.” 

After that things happened too fast for his 
mind to grasp them all. Everybody seemed 
to be talking at once. He thought that Andy 
Ford said something about giving the kid an- 
209 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

other chance. And then his mind cleared. 
He was walking toward the camp. Don was 
on one side of him and — and Tim Lally was 
on the other side with an arm around his 
shoulders. 

Something round and hard choked in 
Bobby’s throat 


CHAPTER XIII 

THE TWINS VOLUNTEER 

C HESTER TROOP sat up late that 
night. The fire was relighted, lemon- 
ade was made, and Bobby told a halting story 
of his experiences. The scouts crowded 
around him and hung upon his every word. 
When he told of the flies and the dirt there 
were several grunts of disgust. 

“They don’t know any better,” Andy Ford 
said in pity. “And they think they’re having 
a good time.” 

Continuing the narrative, he told of the 
money that had been left between two tomato 
rows to pay for what was being taken. 

“How did they come to do that?” Don de- 
manded. 

Bobby became confused. “I — I guess they 


21 1 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

just did it,” he answered, and tried to turn 
the conversation to something else. 

“You mean you told them,” said Tim. 
“Didn’t you?” 

“They — they were willing to do it as soon 
as they saw it wouldn’t be right not to.” 

“I can fancy who made them see it,” Tim 
retorted dryly. 

Once again Bobby felt something choke in 
his throat. Deep in his heart was the convic- 
tion that he was being treated a whole lot 
better than he deserved. When he went to- 
ward his tent, two or three scouts offered to 
lend him a blanket. 

“We’ll look for that half-dollar,” he said 
suddenly. 

“Nobody doubts you, Bobby,” Don told 
him. 

“We’ll find it,” he said doggedly. Now 
that he was back in the good graces of the 
Troop, he was bent on washing clean any lin- 
gering stain of his wrong-doing. He wanted 


212 


THE TWINS VOLUNTEER 


nobody to later question anything he had said. 

Next morning they found the coin, pressed 
down into the soil as though Joe or Pete had 
trampled it at the start of that wild run for 
liberty. At noon Don dropped the silver 
piece under the dining-room table, and at sup- 
per Mrs. Joyce wanted to know had any of the 
boys lost fifty cents. With innocent faces they 
shook their heads, and filed out after the meal 
winking at one another. 

That first day back in camp was, to Bobby, 
like a picture of a new life. Lots of things 
he had accepted before as a matter of course, 
but now he valued them at their true worth. 
The breakfast — clean, well-cooked, unsullied 
by buzzing insects — was a joy. The general 
tidiness of the camp was as balm to his soul. 
He was on kitchen police that first morning, 
and he washed pots and pans with a thorough- 
ness that left them shining. He knew now 
what it meant not to have pots and pans clean. 

The Troop had almost caught up with the 
213 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

ripening vegetables, and there was no need 
now of the frenzied hurry that had marked 
their first few days. They were able to la- 
bor with a calm, persistent swing — and none 
worked more faithfully than the scout who 
had just rediscovered scouting. From time 
to time his voice rose in song; and from time 
to time his heart gave a frightened skip at the 
thought that he had almost missed all this. 

The camp fire that night was as no camp 
fire had ever been before. He sat contented 
within its glow; and the thought ran through 
his mind, over and over again, that a scout 
was a brother to every other scout. Once 
Tim Lally tapped him on the shoulder. 

“You’re pretty quiet, kid.” 

“It’s good just to be here,” said Bobby, and 
his shining eyes gave witness that he spoke 
the truth. He leaned toward Wally Woods 
and whispered that he’d get him another piece 
of canvas as soon as the Troop got back to 
Chester. 


214 


THE TWINS VOLUNTEER 


“Forget it,” said Wally. “A piece of can- 
vas doesn’t amount to anything.” 

But Bobby shook his head. “You’ll get an- 
other piece,” he said. As he lay in bed he 
wondered how the twins were faring and 
whether they had changed their location after 
their escape. Over in the other camp there 
had been dissatisfaction, unstableness, dejec- 
tion. Here was comfort, security, friendship, 
peace. 

The morning bugle, awakening him to a 
new day, brought him from his cot with a 
bound. But quick as he had been, others had 
been quicker. When he reached the river, 
three or four of the scouts were grouped 
around a bundle lying on the shore. Tim 
Lally prodded it, a piece of canvas fell back, 
and a scout canteen came to light. The brown 
cloth bore a black stamp reading R. B. 

“Bobby’s things,” Andy Ford said suddenly. 

Bobby pushed through and opened the bun- 
dle. It contained everything that he had left 
215 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

behind him at the other camp — his scout suit, 
his haversack, his blanket, everything down 
to the least important item. 

“Say,” said Andy, “it was pretty decent for 
the twins to bring that 9tuff back.” 

“Probably afraid we’d chase Mr. Joyce 
after them,” said Tim. 

Bobby carried the bundle back to camp. 
By the time he had it stowed in his tent the 
morning dip period was over. Twice he re- 
peated something that Andy Ford had said 
night before last while he had told his story. 
“They don’t know any better.” 

Now that the work had slackened, the scouts 
decided to cook their own supper in camp. 
Mrs. Joyce protested feebly, but it was easily 
seen that she was not displeased. Cooking 
for so many extra boys had been an ordeal. 

“It will be real fun for us,” said Don. “It 
will be as though we were really camping by 
ourselves. Sometimes each fellow will cook 
for himself, and sometimes we’ll cook one big 
21 6 


THE TWINS VOLUNTEER 


mess. Maybe you could come over and take 
supper with us some night — say next Satur- 
day” 

“We’d like that,” said Mr. Joyce. “You 
boys go ahead and prepare for Saturday.” 

After that, according to Tim Lally, Ches- 
ter Troop had the life of Reilly — whoever he 
was. Retreat had been observed ever since 
coming to camp, but owing to the hurry of 
getting in for a swim, and getting dressed and 
up to the farm-house in time for supper, the 
duty had been gone through in haste. Now 
it became a ceremony that occurred each day 
as soon as the afternoon swim was over. In 
rigid ranks they stood while the bugle played, 
and every hand went up in salute as the flag 
came down. Every time it happened Bob- 
by’s eyes stared straight ahead, his muscles 
twitched, and his nerves trembled with a wild 
thrill. For this, he remembered, was the flag 
that had saved the world. 

Thursday night of that week Tim Lally 
217 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

remained at the farm-house when the day’s 
work was over to help Mr. Joyce check up 
some statement from the commission merchant 
who handled ‘his produce. Retreat was over 
when he arrived at camp. He came in qui- 
etly. There was a queer expression on his 
face. 

“Anything wrong?” Don asked. Bobby 
looked at him quickly. 

“Wrong? No; why?” Tim acted the 
part very well. The moment Bobby looked 
away he frowned at Don and gave a slight 
motion of his head. His tent was the last 
one along one of the rows, and when he went 
toward it Don followed carelessly. Tim 
brought a pair of shoes from the tent and ap- 
parently became absorbed in showing Don 
something on the sole. But what he said had 
nothing whatever to do with shoes. 

“They’re around again,” he whispered. 

“Who? Joe and Pete?” Don’s voice was 
also low. 


218 


THE TWINS VOLUNTEER 


“Yes. I saw them not a hundred yards 
from the camp.” 

“What were they doing?” 

“Just watdiing. They heard me coming 
and crouched down behind some brush, but 
I caught a glimpse of them. They must have 
shifted their camp to this side of the river.” 

Don turned the shoe over and over in his 
hands as though examining it intently. 
“They can’t do anything further with Bobby.” 

“I know that. But suppose they try some- 
thing else just to make trouble for us? You 
can’t tell what a gang like that would be up 
to.” 

No; you couldn’t. Don handed back 
the shoe. But then again boys who would 
leave fifty cents for vegetables they were tak- 
ing, and who would bring Bobby’s clothing 
back, and who would throw away a haversack 
and then retrieve it when their honor was ap- 
pealed to — Don sighed. It was a bit too 
complicated for him. 

219 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

“Keep a watch out for them to-morrow 
night,” he said. “Just watch. Don’t do any- 
thing. We had better get back and help with 
supper. The fellows will think something is 
up.” 

Next evening, during retreat, Tim stood 
with his hand at salute, but his eyes were on 
the woods to the north of the camp. When 
the ceremony was over he caught Don’s eyes 
and nodded. This time Don made no at- 
tempt to speak to him until the council fire 
had been lighted. They sat together off to 
one side. 

“What were they doing?” Don asked. 

“I don’t know; I couldn’t see. Watching, 
I suppose.” Tim was silent a moment. “To- 
morrow Mr. and Mrs. Joyce and the farm- 
hands will come here for supper. Suppose 
they see them come here and then go to the 
house.” 

“They wouldn’t do that,” Don said with 
conviction. 


220 


THE TWINS VOLUNTEER 


Tim hesitated. “I suppose they wouldn’t,” 
he admitted grudgingly. “What we ought 
to do, though, to-morrow is to go out and wait 
for them, and get them before they know 
what’s up. Maybe we can scare them off.” 

“We’ll try it,” said Don. 

Andy Ford’s voice hailed them from the 
other side of the fire. “What are we going to 
have for to-morrow night’s feast?” he de- 
manded. 

A dozen suggestions were made in as many 
seconds. It was Bobby who caught their 
imaginations. 

“Fish wrapped in clay and baked,” he 
cried. “Out in the channel the river’s full of 
fish. Pete and Joe caught them every day.” 

“And big baked potatoes,” cried Wally 
Woods. 

“And big ripe tomatoes!” 

“And roasted corn!” 

“And rice and raisin pudding!” 

“Oh, boy!” said Tim joyously. “I can see 


221 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

same fine old stomach aches to-morrow.” 

But the prospect of stomach aches must 
have been pleasing, for next day the camp 
took on a holiday air. The morning dip was 
a joyous revelry. The morning’s work was 
performed with spirit and dash. At noon 
Mr. Joyce told them to quit for the afternoon. 
Like schoolboys they came across the fields 
for camp, laughing and shouting. One squad 
started to gather wood for a fire that would 
be what Tim called “a pip.” Another squad 
proceeded to get the rice-and-raisin pudding 
under way. 

“What time are we going to eat?” Andy 
Ford asked. 

“Seven o’clock,” said Don. 

“Retreat at six o’clock?” 

“Retreat at five o’clock,” Don said dis- 
tinctly. “Come on, Tim, you and I will get 
the fish.” 

As they walked toward the river Tim 
asked: “Why five o’clock retreat? Joe and 
222 


THE TWINS VOLUNTEER 

Pete? Going to be ready for them if they 
come snooping?” 

Don nodded. 

The Troop had borrowed a boat from a 
farmer farther up the river and had moored 
it above the camp. As they stepped into it 
Tim laid a hand on Don’s arm. 

“How about taking Bobby with us?” 

Don lifted his voice and called. Bobby 
appeared at once on the brow of the embank- 
ment. 

“Want to come fishing?” Tim shouted. 

Did he? He came down the embankment 
on a run. After rowing down stream for half 
an hour they threw over an anchor and got 
out lines that the farmer kept stowed in a 
stern locker. Five minutes later the hooks 
were resting on the bottom. 

“I said I was going to fish when I came 
here,” Tim grinned, “but this is my first trial. 
What kind of fish did the twins get?” 

“Bass,” said Bobby. 

223 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

“Well, we’ll see in a min — Whee !” Tim 
struck and the line jerked crazily. 

“I’ve got one,” Don cried. 

Bobby gave an excited gasp. Then: 
“Missed him,” he said sadly, and watched 
while Tim and Don brought in two three- 
quarter pound fish. 

An hour and a half later they had enough 
bass for supper, and rowed back to camp. 
Four scouts were sent to the farm-house for 
potatoes, corn and tomatoes, and came back 
carrying not only the vegetables but three 
loaves of fresh home-made bread. While 
Ritter and Wally Woods cleaned the fish, 
Bobby brought a bucket of clay from a nearby 
bank and covered it with a wet cloth. It 
was now half-past four — almost time for re- 
treat. 

“Tim and I are going up to see Mr. Joyce,” 
Don announced. “If we’re not back at five 
o’clock go right ahead.” 

They walked from camp with a care-free 
224 


THE TWINS VOLUNTEER 


air, and had any scout been watching he would 
have seen them go straight to the farm-house 
and around to the rear. But once out of 
sight their tactics changed completely. 
Walking hurriedly, they struck due east until 
they were on a line with the camp but farther 
up the river in the woods. Then, slowly, 
they moved south toward the camp, every 
sense alert. After a while Tim nodded to 
Don to halt. 

“It was about here,” he whispered. They 
took shelter behind some thick brush, and 
knelt with one knee each on the leaf-strewn 
ground. 

As they waited doubts arose in Don’s mind 
and began to assail him. What would he say 
to the twins? What right had he to order 
them off another person’s land? What law 
was there against boys coming into the woods 
and watching a scout camp? Of course, 
things that had happened in the past gave him 
reason to be suspicious of mischief ; but what 
225 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

could he do? He had no police power. He 
was no constable. 

Tim Lally clutched his arm. 

The silence of the woods was broken by a 
snapping sound. He saw a form move be- 
tween the trees. It came nearer, nearer, and 
stopped at last within ten feet of where he and 
Tim knelt. Tim’s lips formed a soundless 
word : 

“Pete!” 

Joe Rivers followed. The twins stood mo- 
tionless looking toward the camp. Tim re- 
garded Don with eyes that said, “Shall we 
rush them?” Don shook his head. He was 
in a quandary. Now that the game was cor- 
nered what should he do with it? 

“You keep your eyes peeled an’ see how 
they does it,” said Pete. 

“Like this,” said Joe. His spine stiffened, 
and he brought his right hand up to his fore- 
head. 

“ ’Tain’t,” Pete said impatiently. “They 
226 


THE TWINS VOLUNTEER 


brings their hand up t’ they hats. Ain’t I 
been watchin’ ’em?” 

“Ain’t I?” Joe demanded. 

All of a sudden Don understood, and with 
understanding came sympathy. Why the 
twins, big as they were, rough as they were, 
uncouth as they were, were stirring in answer 
to the appeal that scouting had for everybody. 
They had sneered at “scout fellows.” They 
had hooted and derided. And here, hidden 
in the woods, they were watching the Troop 
and wistfully trying to do the things that 
scouts did. They were trying to do honor to 
the colors as the flag came down. 

Don stood up boldly. “What are you do- 
ing here?” he asked. 

Joe whirled about, saw Tim rising beside 
Don, and reached for a stick. Pete, steady 
as usual, held his ground. 

“We’s lookin’,” he said. “Guess they ain’t 
no harm in that.” 

“You get along out of here,” said Tim. 

227 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

“We don’t want you here. What are you do- 
ing here, anyway?” 

“None o’ your bus’ness,” Joe flared. 

“We’s salutin’ the flag when it’s took down,” 
said Pete defiantly. “It ain’t all yourn; it’s 
our flag, too, I guess.” 

The answer sent a look of bewilderment to 
Tim’s face. Don walked around the brush 
and approached the twins. Joe raised the 
stick menacingly. 

“Americans don’t give the flag a sneaky sa- 
lute,” said Don. “If you fellows want to do 
it honor, come into camp and do it openly.” 

“It’s a trap,” cried Joe. 

“No,” said Pete, after a silence. “Don 
Strong’s square. We’s willing.” 

Don led them toward the camp. As they 
came from the trees and walked past the first 
row of tents the bugle began to sound and the 
flag began to flutter down. Don and Tim 
came to attention ; and the twins, with a quick 
look about, did as they saw the others do. By 
228 


THE TWINS VOLUNTEER 


this time their presence was known to every 
scout. Bobby’s face paled. A few of the 
bugle notes faltered. Then the flag was down 
and the ceremony was over. 

“What do you think of it?” Don asked. 

“It’s fine,” Pete said in a strange voice. 
Followed by Joe, he moved back toward the 
trees. His steps were reluctant. He seemed 
desirous of seeing more of this strange place. 

“Don’t run away,” said Don. “Wouldn’t 
you like to look us over?” 

“Sure,” said Pete. He took the invitation 
literally, walking about the camp, inspecting 
the trek wagon, surveying the cooking fire and 
even lifting the tent flaps and looking into the 
canvas houses. 

“Let them alone,” Don whispered to the in- 
credulous scouts. 

No boy bothered them, though stark amaze- 
ment was reflected on more than one scout 
face. Inspection over, the twins retired to 
one side and whispered. Their eyes rested 
229 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

on what was plainly a preparation for a feast. 
The corn, ready for the fire, was stacked to 
one side. The tomatoes, washed and quar- 
tered, red, ripe and inviting, were heaped in a 
big pot. The potatoes were waiting for the 
coals. And Bobby, looking down hard at the 
ground, was carrying the pail of clay toward 
where the bass lay on clean, fresh leaves. 

There was something in Pete’s eyes that 
made Don do another impulsive thing. 

“You fellows might as well stay for sup- 
per,” he said. 

For an instant all work in the camp stopped. 

“All right,” said Pete. “We’s willing.” 

“We’s got a pound and a half o’ bacon in 
our camp,” Joe said eagerly. “Bacon goes 
fine with fish. We’ll paddle down an’ get 
it.” 

“Good!” said Don. “You won’t be long?” 

“No,” said Joe. “Come on, Pete.” 

The camp broke into clamor the moment 
they were gone. Chester Troop wasn’t going 
230 


THE TWINS VOLUNTEER 


to take up with the twins, was it? Hadn’t Joe 
and Pete made enough trouble? For once 
Tim Lally did not lift his voice in denuncia- 
tion. Instead, he looked at Don curiously. 

“Fellows,” Don said, “I remember one 
night I was sitting with Mr. Wall on his 
porch. He said that no boy was altogether 
bad, and that if you watched, the time would 
come when he’d leave an opening to get close 
to him. Mr. Wall said that when the time 
came the thing to do was to grab it.” 

Tim nodded as though he began to under- 
stand. 

“They were standing out in the woods,” 
Don went on, “watching the camp and waiting 
to salute the flag at retreat.” 

“Gosh!” said Andy Ford softly. “You’d 
never think Joe and Pete were that kind.” 

“Maybe they never did have a chance,” 
said Don. 

When the twins came back the whole at- 
mosphere of the camp had changed. Boys 
231 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

who up to this time had always looked at 
them askance spoke to them without restraint. 
Pete squatted on the ground and deftly 
wrapped fish in their blankets of clay. Joe 
went off with Wally Woods and Ritter to 
rustle wood for that night’s council fire. The 
potatoes went into the fire, to be followed after 
a time by the corn. And just as Mr. and Mrs. 
Joyce and the hands came across the fields, 
the fish were laid in the hot coals. 

“Who’s them cornin’?” Pete asked. 

“That’s the man we’re working for,” said 
Andy. 

Pete bounded to his feet. 

“Easy!” said Don. “They don’t know it 
was you fellows. Nobody told them. Any- 
way, you paid. We found the fifty cents.” 

Pete dropped back to his seat on the 
ground. But his fingers twitched nervously, 
and for many minutes his eyes furtively 
watched Mr. Joyce. As time passed and 
no outcry was raised at his presence, the 
232 


THE TWINS VOLUNTEER 


tenseness left him. Andy tried the potatoes 
with a sliver of wood and pronounced them 
done. Pete flipped them from the fire. 

Oh, but that was a feast indeed! To Joe 
and Pete, weary of fish, fish, fish, it was as nec- 
tar and honey. Mrs. Joyce had brought a 
crock of butter with her, and a yellow lump 
went into each potato and another yellow 
lump melted hungrily into every roasted ear 
of corn. The tomatoes, cold and firm, were fit 
for kings. And the fish, bursting with the 
flavor of deep, clean water, melted in hungry 
mouths. 

To top the feast, Bobby and Ritter carried 
in the pudding. Joe looked helplessly at 
Pete, and then slowly began to loosen his belt. 
The moment the meal was over, the work of 
cleaning up began. With something of 
wonder in their glances the twins watched 
the orderly manner in which the job was 
done. 

To their eyes, the council fire that followed 
233 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

was a picture from fairyland. The scouts 
sang songs that they did not know, and they 
listened and drank in every word. The mel- 
ody was softly pitched as though to match the 
gentle murmur of the night wind. Rousing 
himself when one song ended, Pete found 
Bobby sitting beside him. 

“And you rand away from this,” he said in a 
puzzled tone. “You poor idjit.” 

“Poor idjit is right,” said Joe. “You ain’t 
got no sense at all. We’s never had such fun, 
has we, Pete?” 

Pete shook his head. 

The good time came to an end at last. Mr. 
and Mrs. Joyce and the hands went back to 
the farm-house. Pete and Joe prepared to 
leave. 

“Say,” said Pete, embarrassed, “if we corned 
over once in a while would it be all right? 
We won’t hurt nothin’.” 

“Come over any time you want,” said Tim 
cordially. 


234 


THE TWINS VOLUNTEER 


Don smiled. Tim flushed, and after a mo- 
ment grinned sheepishly. He was playing 
the game the way Mr. Wall would want it 
played. 

After that the twins came often to the camp. 
Sometimes they would appear in the daytime 
while the scouts were in the fields, and would 
replenish the wood supply. Sometimes they 
would appear at the swimming hour bringing 
with them a mess of bass cleaned and ready for 
the fire, and then they would stay for supper 
and the council fire. They learned to sing, in 
halting fashion, one of the rousing songs. 
But always there was an air of shyness about 
them as though they found it impossible to 
entirely bridge all that had happened in the 
past. 

There came a night at last when the bar- 
riers did seem to be down. It was a Thurs- 
day night, and Pete picked a rope from the 
ground and began to tie knots by the fire 
light. It was his one accomplishment. Be- 
235 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

fore long the entire Troop was grouped 
around him, and his ears were besieged with 
eager requests to “show me how to tie that one, 
Pete.” His face flushed with pleasure. He 
tried to outdo himself. 

From the darkness came a hail. “Hello, 
scout camp.” One of the farm-hands was 
calling. 

“Right-o !” cried Tim. 

“Don Strong is wanted on the telephone.” 

Don walked out of the fire-light toward the 
call. His face reflected concern. Something 
out of the ordinary must have happened back 
in Chester — that much was certain. The 
boys clamoring around Pete drew apart; and 
Pete, sensing that something disquieting had 
happened, put the rope away. 

They heard Don running back. He burst 
in upon them crying his news. 

“Mr. Wall is due home Saturday. Ted 
Carter telephoned me. We must give him 
a real welcome, fellows. Somebody ought to 
236 


THE TWINS VOLUNTEER 


get back to town at once and get things ar- 
ranged.” 

“You can’t get back to-night,” said Ritter. 
“The last train has gone. There’s a train at 
eleven o’clock to-morrow.” 

“That’s too late. The Troop will start for 
Chester to-morrow afternoon in one of Mr. 
Joyce’s farm wagons, but somebody must start 
sooner. There’s a lot to be done.” 

“Why can’t you ride in on a farm wagon 
to-night?” Wally Woods demanded. 

“The wagons are gone. They’ll get back 
about three o’clock to-morrow morning. 
The men and the horses will have to get some 
rest.” 

“Why can’t we all pitch in bright and early 
Saturday morning?” Tim asked. 

“Mr. Wall is due at 9:15 Saturday morn- 
ing,” said Don. 

The scoutmaster of Chester Troop was com- 
ing home from the war, and Chester Troop 
was miles away. Somebody sighed. 

237 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

“Think, everybody,” cried Bobby Brown. 
“There must be some way.” 

A form arose from the ground. The Troop 
had forgotten the presence of the twins, but 
now Pete’s shadow bobbed and danced in the 
fire-light. 

“We’s willing to take Don Strong in,” he 
said. 

“What’s that?” Tim demanded. 

“In our boat. We’s good at the oars. It 
ain’t so much o’ a way by the river. We can’t 
go very fast at night, but we can beach at oilr 
cabin by two o’clock come mornin’. Can’t 
we, Joe?” 

“Easy,” said Joe. “Don Strong can walk 
in from our cabin.” 

Again somebody sighed. Only a few days 
ago every scout had looked upon the twins as 
the natural enemies of Chester Troop; yet 
here, in an emergency, the twins were offering 
their services. They misunderstood the si- 
lence. 


THE TWINS VOLUNTEER 


“I thought we was goin’ to be friends,” said 
Pete in a hurt voice. 

“I was thinking of something else,” said 
Don, and smiled at Tim. “How soon can you 
have the boat ready, Pete?” 


CHAPTER XIV 


WELCOME HOME 

T HAT night Don traveled light. Aside 
from the clothing he wore, he carried 
none of his belongings with him. They 
would follow to-morrow in the farm wagon. 
And in an effort to make the journey as easy 
as possible, the twins were prevailed upon to 
leave their meager equipment with Chester 
Troop. 

It was almost ten o’clock when the boat 
pushed off from the shore and turned its nose 
downstream. Up on the embankment the 
council fire still burned; down by the water 
the Troop, grouped about Tim Lally, cheered 
shrilly as the oars dipped and rose and dipped. 
Joe sat in the bow, Pete sat in the middle and 
Don sat in the stern. He watched the reflec- 
tion of the council fire dwindle as the boat 
240 


WELCOME HOME 


went on its way, and just before the thicken- 
ing trees shut it out of sight entirely he 
thought he heard the faint notes of a bugle 
playing taps. 

The tide was with them, and they made 
good time. Joe and Pete kept the craft in 
the middle of the stream where the current 
ran strongest. They rowed slowly and put 
but little effort into the strokes. 

“Tide changes about midnight,” said Pete. 
“Then we’s got a job on our hands. Might 
as well take it easy now.” 

There had been a bright moon when they 
started, but before long mounting clouds shut 
out the yellow light and plunged their world 
into darkness. At once the river seemed twice 
as wide, and the black shores twice as myste- 
rious. Joe stopped rowing and swung around 
in the bow so that he faced the direction in 
which they traveled. 

“Always a chance o’ hittin’ somethin’,” he 
said, “if you don’t watch out.” His young 
241 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

eyes, trained to the outdoors, seemed to see 
things that to Don were not there at all. 
Once he called quickly: “Port, Pete; port. 
We’s running t’ shore. The river’s made a 
turn.” 

To Don things looked no different than 
they had looked before; but as Pete, strug- 
gling with one oar, swung the boat to one 
side, he caught a faint outline of trees near 
at hand. 

They passed pale lights that spoke of farm 
buildings. They passed winking clusters of 
light that were villages. They went under 
one railroad bridge, and a freight train roared 
over their heads as they carefully felt their 
path through the bridge’s boatway. Joe got 
a cinder in his eye, got it out, and expressed 
a fervent opinion of railroads in general. 
Temporarily the injury interfered with his 
sight, and he took the oars and Pete went into 
the bow. Something that fluttered and 
clutched like fingers slid along one side of the 
242 


WELCOME HOME 

boat. Along, dark hulk was discernible in 
the water. 

“What’s that?” Don demanded, startled. 

“Tree,” said Pete. “They’s a lot o’ them 
what was blown down by the storm the night 
Bobby was in our camp.” 

“We’s careful not to hit ’em,” said Joe. 

By and by the speed of the boat slackened. 
Pete said that the tide was at the ebb. Soon 
the current would set in against them. 

“We’s both got to row now,” said Joe. 
“Maybe Don Strong can watch.” 

Don went into the bow, and two pairs of 
oars began to propel the boat. They left the 
middle of the river now, and edged over to- 
ward one shore where the opposing current 
would not run so strongly. The clouds had 
lightened, and though the moon was still hid- 
den, the sky formed a background against 
which Don could see the trees. The stream, 
too, became faintly luminous. Nevertheless, 
he was none too sure of himself. Every dark 
243 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

patch on the water sent his heart into his 
throat. 

“I’ll row for a while,” he offered. 

“No,” Pete answered. “You’s a lot to do. 
Me and Joe’ll hold the oars.” 

And they held them, though they grew tired, 
to the journey’s end. They beached the boat 
not ten feet from their cabin and climbed 
stiffly ashore. 

“What’s the time?” Pete asked. 

Don told him. “Ten minutes past two.” 

“Not bad a’ tall,” said Joe. 

Don tried to tell them that it was very good, 
and that they had done Chester Troop a won- 
derful “good turn.” 

“You’s always been square, Don Strong,” 
Pete said simply. “ ’Tain’t nothin’ for us t’ 
row a boat. Maybe we’ll see you by an’ by.” 

Don climbed out of the hollow to the Turn- 
pike and struck out for home. The house 
was dark when he turned in at the gate, and 
he had to knock half a dozen times before 


244 


WELCOME HOME 


there was a response. Upstairs a light was 
turned up. After a short wait a voice called 
anxiously from a window: 

“Who’s there?” 

“Don. Let me in, Barbara.” 

“Do you know Mr. Wall’s coming home to- 
morrow?” 

“Yes; that’s what brought me home.” 

Barbara, Beth and his mother all came 
downstairs to admit him. Before he had his 
hat and coat off Barbara had put water on 
to boil and was ransacking the ice-box. Pres- 
ently he found himself at the table with cold 
meat, bread and butter and a cup of tea. 

“How did you get back?” Barbara asked. 

“Joe and Pete Rivers rowed me down in 
their boat.” 

“Joe and — ” Barbara laid a quick hand on 
his arm. “Tell me all about it, Don.” 

So he told them how Bobby had been kid- 
naped and brought to camp, of the appear- 
ance of the twins, and of how Bobby had es- 
M 5 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

caped and of how he had come back. When 
he related the finding of the twins in the woods 
waiting to salute the flag, Barbara could con- 
trol herself no longer. 

“Don! Wasn’t that splendid?” 

“I thought so,” Don answered. “I guess 
all the fellows did, too. Joe and Pete will be 
all right if they get half a chance.” 

“Dad’s coming home to-morrow,” said 
Beth. 

Don looked at her in surprise. “He does 
every Saturday, doesn’t he?” 

Beth smiled. “I mean for good.” 

Oh, but the happy talk started then. 
“Hasn’t it been a wonderful summer,” said 
Don. “And wait until you see how we’ve kept 
the garden,” said Barbara. And “Wait until 
you see how much fruit and vegetables Mother 
has jarred,” said Beth. And “Won’t it be fine 
to have Dad with us again,” said all. 

It was after four o’clock when Don went to 
bed. But at nine o’clock he was up again. 

246 


WELCOME HOME 


As he came downstairs Barbara smiled and 
told him that somebody was waiting outside 
to see him. He went to the front door. No- 
body was on the stoop or in the front yard. 
Out in the street two figures sat on the grass 
with their backs against the picket fence. 
They were smoking, and the vapor from their 
pipes curled thin and blue above their heads. 

“Hello, fellows,” Don called. 

“We’s ready to help,” said Pete Rivers. 

“Wait until I get some breakfast.” Then, 
on second thought: “Come on in and wait.” 

The twins fidgeted uncomfortably. “We’s 
all right here,” said Pete. 

In another hour they were at Troop head- 
quarters. The little building, which had been 
closed for almost a month, smelled hot and 
musty. Don threw open the windows, un- 
fastened the lockers, and brought forth a mass 
of flags and bunting. Joe and Pete had car- 
ried over a ladder, and Don mounted this and 
began to tack an edge of bunting to one cor- 
247 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

ner of the roof. The door of Mr. Wall’s 
house opened and Mrs. Wall came out on the 
porch. 

Don waved to her. “We’re getting ready.” 

“I didn’t think you’d get here in time, Don. 
Where are the others?” 

“They’ll be in to-night. I wouldn’t have 
made it so soon if Joe and Pete Rivers hadn’t 
brought me down in their boat.” 

Mrs. Wall concealed whatever surprise she 
felt. “That was mighty fine of them,” she 
said. 

“ ’Twasn’t nothing, ma’am,” Pete mumbled. 

By one o’clock they had Troop headquar- 
ters decorated, and started work on Mr. 
Wall’s house. Barbara appeared carrying a 
basket of sandwiches, two bottles of milk and 
three glasses. While she remained Pete and 
Joe scarcely ate, but the moment she departed 
they fell upon the sandwiches as though they 
were famished. 

“The old man ain’t been keepin’ the grub 
248 


WELCOME HOME 


pile stocked up while we was away,” said Joe, 
“and they wasn’t much t’ eat this mornin’.” 

“The old man ain’t spry like he was,” Pete 
stated without emotion. 

Early in the afternoon the second stage of 
the work was completed. Tired, they stood 
back to view the results of their labors. 

“Ain’t that fine?” Pete asked in admiration. 

“They ought to be a sign,” said Joe. 

Don swung toward him. “What kind of 
sign?” 

“One of them there welcome home signs.” 

“We’ll make one. Rummage through the 
lockers and find needles. I’ll get some cloth 
and some red thread. That’s a fine idea, Joe.” 

Don disappeared toward Main Street, and 
presently came back with white muslin and a 
cloth that he called “Turkey red.” With 
white chalk he sketched letters on the red 
fabric, and cut them out. Then the three of 
them set to work sewing the letters on the strip 
of white muslin. 

249 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

“We’ll stretch it from Mr. Wall’s porch to 
Troop headquarters,” Don decided when the 
sign was ready. “Pull it tight, Pete.” 

“Say,” said Pete, “I’ll bet they ain’t no bet- 
ter welcome home no place. What time is 
that farm wagon cornin’? I’d like for them 
t’ see it before it gets dark.” 

Pete had his wish. The Troop arrived in 
Chester at six o’clock, and stared round-eyed 
at the wonders that had been wrought. Tim 
Lally immediately decided that only one thing 
was lacking — noise. Authorized to spend 
three dollars of the Troop’s funds, he went off 
to buy giant firecrackers, and came back sor- 
rowfully to report that there wasn’t one to be 
had in town. 

“We’s got two shotguns,” Joe said eagerly, 
“and ’bout fifteen shells.” 

“Oh, boy!” cried Tim. “Bring them in.” 

Pete looked at him anxiously. “We won’t 
get jugged for shootin’, will we?” 

“Leave that to us,” said Tim. “I’ll go 
250 


WELCOME HOME 


down and talk to the police captain like a 
long lost brother. Nobody’s going to inter- 
fere with scouts welcoming home a scoutmas- 
ter from France.” 

Ted Carter was now working in the city, 
going down from Chester in the morning and 
coming home in the evening. That night he 
came around to Don’s house, and they sat on 
the porch for two hours talking of the changes 
the summer had brought. Bobby’s reforma- 
tion brought a “Good, good!” from Ted. He 
was frankly amazed when he heard about the 
twins. 

“Too bad they didn’t become scouts when 
they were about twelve years old,” he said so- 
berly. “They’d amount to something to-day.” 

“They’ll amount to something yet,” said 
Don. 

He had called upon the Troop to assemble 
next morning at eight o’clock — but at seven- 
thirty o’clock every boy was there. Joe and 
Pete arrived proudly carrying their shot-guns. 

251 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

When the order finally came to fall in, they 
stood doubtfully at the curb. 

“You two fellows right behind the last file,” 
said Don. 

“We’s goin’ to march, too,” Pete whispered 
hoarsely; “step lively, Joe.” 

Down to the station the Troop paraded, the 
notes of the bugle rising from the head of the 
column. At ten minutes past nine o’clock 
they were in position, a double line that faced 
the tracks. Pete and Joe, off to one side for 
safety, jammed cartridges into their guns. 

The train came into view. The double line 
began to waver. 

“Attention!” called Don. That sounded 
too formal for an occasion like this. “Steady, 
fellows.” 

“Say when,” shouted Pete. He and Joe 
had their guns pointed up at a high angle. 
“Say when.” 

“Go on,” Don cried. His own self-control 
was gone. “Fire! Fire!” 

25 2 


WELCOME HOME 


The train began to slow down. 

Boom-boom! Boom-boom! roared the 
guns. The twins began to reload hastily. 

A man stood on the platform of one of the 
cars, a suit-case in each hand. At sight of the 
scouts a wonderful smile lit his face. He 
stepped down from the car-steps. The double 
line faced him now rigidly at salute. He 
dropped the suit-cases, snapped a return sa- 
lute — and then suddenly held out his hands. 

The lines broke. Pell-mell the scouts 
rushed for him, babbling incoherent things. 

Boom-boom ! Boom-boom ! the guns roared 
again. 

“Gosh! It’s good to see you again, Mr. 
Wall,” Tim Lally blurted. The tears were 
running down his cheeks. 

“It’s good to be back, Tim,” said Mr. Wall. 
“Ah, Don.” 

Don felt his hands grasped with a pressure 
that started his heart to beating wildly. 
There were lots of things he wanted to say, 
253 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

but the words would not come. And while 
he stood there, tongue-tied, the guns boomed 
once more. 

“The Rivers twins?” Mr. Wall asked. 

“Yes, sir ” 

“Have they come into the Troop?” 

“N — no, sir,” said Don, and tried to tell 
something of what had happened in the past 
two weeks. But scouts were shouting and 
clamoring and jostling all around him, and 
what he said was sadly disconnected. 

“I imagine I understand,” Mr. Wall said. 
“Ted Carter wrote me once or twice. You’ve 
had your hands full. How did you manage?” 

“Whenever anything happened,” Don an- 
swered, “I tried to play fair to everybody.” 

“Nobody can do more than that,” said Mr. 
Wall, and squeezed his hands again. 

Ritter got one suit-case and Wally Woods 
got the other. With the scouts pushing and 
shoving for the honor of being near him, the 
scoutmaster walked toward the two boys who, 
254 


WELCOME HOME 


having exhausted their ammunition, watched 
the scene with pathetic interest. 

“Hello, Pete! Hello, Joe! Ids a real 
pleasure to find you here.” 

“We’s glad to be here,” said Joe. 

“We’s glad you wasn’t killed,” added Pete. 

Mr. Wall’s mouth twitched. “I’m glad of 
that myself. Coming with us?” 

“Sure,” they answered eagerly in chorus. 

Up the street the happy party went. Men 
came from stores to shake Mr. Wall’s hand, 
and the scouts grudgingly made room for 
them. At one point Don felt the scoutmas- 
ter’s hand on his arm, and looked up into eyes 
that met his warmly. “Good work,” the man 
said. Somehow, Don thought he was speak- 
ing of Joe and Pete. 

They turned into Mr. Wall’s street. A 
woman came running down from a porch. 
Mr. Wall broke through the circle of scouts. 
It was too much troublp to go by way of the 
walk. He leaped the hedge and met her. 

255 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

“We’d better go back,” said Don. 

“Gee whiz!” wailed Ritter; “I have one of 
his suit-cases.” 

“And I’ve got another,” cried Wally 
Woods. 

“He’s looking at the decorations,” Tim 
Lally hissed. 

Yes; Mr. Wall was looking at the decora- 
tions, and the sign that read “Welcome 
Home.” Something he saw there must have 
touched him, for he ran his hands quickly 
across his eyes. He went up the porch steps 
with Mrs. Wall and disappeared into the 
house. 

“Bring the suit-cases to headquarters,” said 
Don. 

They all crowded into the little building, 
Joe and Pete with the rest. Mr. Wall was 
home at last! A weight seemed to have been 
lifted from Don’s shoulders; and now that it 
was gone he realized that to carry it had taxed 
him. No longer was the responsibility his. 

256 


WELCOME HOME 


No longer would he have to struggle with 
problems that were almost too big for him. 
He dropped into a chair and felt every muscle 
in his body relax. 

“He was shot, wasn’t he?” Pete said in his 
ear. 

He nodded. 

“Damn the Germans!” Pete said passion- 
ately. 

A whistle sounded — a whistle that Chester 
Troop had not heard for many, many months. 
There was a wild rush for the door. Mr. 
Wall stood on his porch. 

“Fellows,” he said, “we’ll get together to- 
night at eight o’clock. That is, unless you 
want to put it off until some other night.” 

“No,” they roared. “No; no.” 

“Eight o’clock all right?” 

“Fine!” 

“All right, then; eight o’clock. Joe and 
Pete Rivers! Where are you?” 

“Here!” cried Pete. 


257 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

“I want you fellows at the meeting. You’ll 
come, won’t you?” 

“Come?” Pete’s thin neck seemed in dis- 
tress; the Adam’s apple moved up and down 
convulsively. “We’s just hungry to come, 
Mr. Wall,” he said. 


CHAPTER XV * 

AMERICANS ALL 

D ON walked home consumed with an im- 
patient desire to tell the story of Mr. 
W all’s welcome. He wanted to quicken his 
steps, to hurry — and couldn’t. He was con- 
scious of two things. One was that he was 
very happy. The other was that he was very 
tired. 

He told his story sitting on the porch, and 
his mother kept twisting the ends of her apron 
and smiling softly, and Barbara kept blink- 
ing her eyes and looking away. When he 
came to the end he seemed to slump listlessly 
in his chair; and when Barbara spoke to him 
her voice seemed to come from a distance. 

“Don,” she said, “you’re tired. You ought 
to lie down.” 

“I wouldn’t be able to sleep,” he protested. 
259 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

“Well, lie down anyway. You will rest, 
and that will freshen you for to-night.’’ 

Still protesting, he went to his room — and 
in five minutes was sleeping soundly. Bar- 
bara tiptoed in, covered him with a light blan- 
ket, tip-toed out and closed the door. 

When he awoke, the evening shadows were 
gathering. Downstairs he heard a voice — 
He sprang from bed, and began to lace his 
shoes. Even as he worked at the last knot, 
footsteps came up the stairs, the door opened 
and his father came into the room. 

“Dad!” he called. And then he was in his 
father’s arms just as though he were a lad of 
twelve instead of a strapping boy of eighteen. 

There was so much for them to talk about! 
They sat on the side of the bed, and the room 
grew dusky as they told of all that had hap- 
pened since they had last greeted each other. 
By and by Barbara scolded them from the hall 
and told them to come down to supper. 

“Don,” said Mr. Strong, “'there’s a satisfac- 
260 


AMERICANS ALL 


tion in knowing that Uncle Sam had some- 
thing for each of us to do, and that we did it.” 

“You bet,” said Don. Barbara was wait- 
ing for them, and walked into the dining- 
room with one arm around her father and the 
other arm around her brother. 

Supper was a light-hearted, merry meal. 
But the clock soon said twenty minutes to 
eight, and Don had to tear himself away. 
When he reached Troop headquarters every 
scout was present, and Mr. Wall was standing 
in his old place up near the head of the room 
laughing and joking with some of the older 
members of the Troop. There was a box on 
a table covered with a cloth, and it bore a sign 
in Mr. Wall’s handwriting reading “Hands 
off.” More than one scout watched that sign 
in high anticipation. 

At eight o’clock the scoutmaster’s whistle 
shrilled, and the meeting started. The colors 
came forward front and center, and the Troop 
pledged anew its allegiance to the flag. 

261 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

Never had the ceremony been more impres- 
sive. Then came the scout oath, the roll call, 
inspection. Joe and Pete Rivers, from a 
place near the wall, looked on and scarcely 
breathed. 

“Why wasn’t they scout clubs when you 
and me was little?” Pete whispered to his 
brother. 

“Yeh,” said Joe; “why wasn’t they?” 

Having got that far, the meeting hesitated 
— and then ceased to be a scout meeting after 
the accepted fashion of the Troop. For Mr. 
Wall had whisked the cover off the box, and 
there they saw a helmet or two, cartridge belts, 
a bayonet, clips of bullets and coat buttons. 
The helmet was crowned with a sinister spike ; 
the coat buttons bore the stamp of a threaten- 
ing eagle. 

“German things,” cried Tim Lally. 
“Aren’t they, Mr. Wall?” 

“Yes,” said the scoutmaster; “German 
things. I thought you’d all like a souvenir of 
262 


AMERICANS ALL 


the days when America crushed a force that 
threatened to enslave the world. Every relic 
here came from the Argonne. I am going to 
call your names, patrol leaders first, then the 
scouts according to the length of time you 
have been in the Troop. As I call you, come 
forward and take your pick. Take your time., 
Dont crush.” 

Don and Andy Ford took the helmets; Tim 
Lally selected the bayonet. The cartridge 
belts were the next to go. The clips of bul- 
lets were only half exhausted when the last 
scout had made his selection. 

“Joe and Pete,” Mr. Wall called. “Your 
turn.” 

“Us?” Pete demanded in surprise. He 
took a clip of bullets, and Joe, for variety, se- 
lected two coat buttons. He frowned at those 
ugly imperial eagles. Pete went back to his 
seat and kept staring at the bullets in his 
hands. 

“He gived us somethin’ just as though we 
263 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

was scouts,” he kept repeating under his 
breath. 

“Scouts,” Mr. Wall said, “I have been away 
a long time, and I can be with you to-night for 
only a few minutes. I called this meeting be- 
cause there are things I wanted to say to you 
as soon as possible. The war is over, the 
fighting is done, and sometimes people soon 
forget. I do not want to talk to you about 
the fighting. Those of us who have been 
through it want nothing better than to forget 
it. What I want to talk to you about is the 
men who went to France and died — and what 
they died for.” 

Tim Lally coughed. Somebody whispered 
“SsshI” 

“They did not die so that the United States 
could seize the land of some other people. 
They did not die because the United States 
could become more powerful. They did not 
even die to protect the United States from in- 
vasion. We were not threatened. No en- 
264 


AMERICANS ALL 


emy was pounding at our gates. They died 
for something nobler and grander. They 
died so that other people, threatened by a bru- 
tal, ruthless foe, might throw off the danger 
that threatened them and once more breathe 
the air of freedom. Knowing liberty, loving 
liberty, they died so that other people might- 
have liberty, too. Where they lie in France, 
there burns the torch of immortality. What 
they have done will never cease to stir the 
hearts of good men everywhere. 

“And in dying they have passed a duty to 
us. We must live so that their sacrifices shall 
not have been in vain. To be an American 
to-day means more than it ever meant before. 
It is a name of honor. It stands before the 
world the symbol of self-sacrifice and devo- 
tion. It is a sign that there are men in the 
world who are willing to die for an ideal. 
And if it is to mean anything to us it must 
mean this — that we are willing to live for that 
ideal. 


265 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

“One phase of that ideal is duty. When 
there is need of work to be done, we must do 
it. When there is a sacrifice to be made, we 
must make it. America asks every man to 
become a good citizen. It asks every boy to 
train himself to be a good citizen. And what 
are the things by which we shall know a good 
citizen of this great country? These — he 
obeys the law, he is loyal to his country, he 
serves his fellow-man, he responds willingly 
to any service to which his country calls him, 
and he turns his hand to some useful, honest 
labor and makes of everything he touches an 
honest job. 

“While I was away, America called upon 
all. There was an army abroad, and there 
was an army at home. You, the scouts of 
Chester Troop, were part of the army at 
home, and Patrol Leader Don Strong was 
your commander. And now I ask for a re- 
port. How did Chester Troop mee* its ob- 
ligations! Patrol Leader Strong.” 

266 


AMERICANS ALL 


Don stood up and saluted. “Some — some 
of us made mistakes,” he said in a voice that 
trembled, “but — ” 

Bobby Brown hung his head. 

“ — But we were Americans — all of us. 
Those who made mistakes squared things 
when they found they were wrong.” 

Bobby’s head came up. 

“No,” said a hoarse voice. 

Startled, the Troop looked to the rear of the 
room. Pete Rivers was standing beside his 
chair. The muscles of his face were twitch- 
ing. 

“We wasn’t all good Americans,” Pete went 
on. “Me and Joe we didn’t do nothin’.” 

“Perhaps you didn’t understand,” Mr. Wall 
said gently. 

“That don’t make no difference, does it?” 
Joe demanded. 

“Yes,” said Mr. Wall; “it makes all the 
difference in the world.” 

Slowly Pete sat down. The muscles of his 
267 


DON STRONG, AMERICAN 

face grew calm and he held the clip of Ger- 
man bullets tightly in his hand. 

“Scouts,” Mr. Wall said, “America looks 
to you to uphold her future. Those graves in 
France cry aloud to you to stand for all that 
is cleanest and best, to-day, to-morrow, for- 
ever. As schoolboys your duty is to prepare 
yourselves for your work. As workers your 
duty is to dignify your labor. To-day Amer- 
ica has given the world a new vision of liberty. 
It is to you she looks that that vision may be 
brighter twenty years from now. That is the 
message I bring you from France.” 

The meeting was over. Grouped in the 
center of the room they sang “America.” 
“My country , * tis of thee!” Don’s voice grew 
husky. Never before had that one line meant 
all it meant to-night. He saw Bobby singing 
with a look of exaltation in his eyes. Bobby 
hadn’t understood, but Mr. Wall said that that 
made all the difference in the world. 

Nobody noticed the two boys who stole out 
268 


AMERICANS ALL 


of the building and walked toward Chester 
Turnpike. For perhaps a mile they trudged 
in silence through the night. 

“We’s been poor, ignorant idjits,” Pete said 
at last. 

‘Teh,” said Joe. 

“No more o’ that,” Pete said passionately. 
“Come to-morrow I’m goin’ to hunt me a job. 
No bowlin’ alley job — a real job.” 

“Me, too,” said Joe. 

(i) 


' 




■ ■ 

. 




























* 1 ✓ 

























/ 











































* 


LBJa’26 











































































































■ 












































































































•' * ^ 






























































































■ 
















. 






















































LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



